Drum Fills in Our Hearts
by bangobang
Summary: Quinn's always been an outsider. When she was forced to quit soccer at her old school, she began playing percussion, where the clash of the cymbals and banging of the drums enabled her to hide her big secrets behind big noises. She meets Rachel and the secret begins to unravel. g!p
1. Chapter 1

"Drum Fills in Our Hearts"

_Chapter 1 - The Audition_

* * *

Mike's Music Shop was perhaps the biggest attraction in Lima, Ohio. At the center of Broad Street, right in the middle of downtown Lima, it was flanked by a car insurance agency and a wholesale carpet store. It boasted the largest selection of musical equipment and sheet music in Allen County, Ohio.

Now, if you grew up in Columbus, like Quinn, Lima didn't even register on your list of big cities. Nevertheless, upon moving to Lima, Quinn couldn't complain about the percussion selection at Mike's. She'd picked up percussion early on, in elementary school. The clash of the cymbals and banging of the drums enabled her to hide her big secrets behind big noises. In her sophomore year, she'd used the money she'd earned from working at the deli to buy her first drum kit. After quitting soccer in the middle of sophomore year, she'd cleared a space in her mom's basement and played until she got home from work. Since moving to Lima, she'd stopped by Mike's at least once a week. Lately, she'd been eyeing a crash cymbal to add to her kit.

"You go to McKinley, right?" A voice from behind startled her. She turned to find a girl she recognized, but couldn't put a name to. Someone she'd seen in school, but then she'd seen so many new faces when she transferred that she would never know this girl's name.

"Transferred a month ago."

Quinn had never been very good at making small talk with anyone.

A small hand shot out to greet her. "Rachel Berry. I'm a senior. You?"

"Quinn. Senior."

"Huh, and you transferred a few months from graduating high school?" The girl stared at her for a moment. "Sorry. Sorry, I'm prying. Do you play?" She nodded at the cymbal that Quinn's hand ran back and forth against.

"Yeah. Drums. Got a kit, just was looking to build it more."

Rachel nodded excitedly. Her hand nearly crumpled the paper she brought into Quinn's range. "I'm actually looking for a drummer. I want to do something really impressive for my NYADA audition, so my friend slash acquaintance Noah is going to get a few guys from the school's jazz band to help me, but we still don't have a drummer. I figured a big seven piece band would really make my audition memorable." Rachel took a deep breath and her skin flushed. "Sorry, I'm rambling. Do you have a band already?"

"No." Quinn looked down at Rachel's shoes, then dug the tip of her sneaker further into the carpet. "I don't."

"Are you any good?"

Quinn shyly raised her head and caught Rachel's eyes, nodding. "Mmhmm."

"Well how about I give you one of these fliers and you can come by my house at our first practice. I'm trying to find other drummers to try out, I'm not just going to give you the job, but I haven't found anyone yet. Can you bring your drumset, or is that too much?"

"I've got a truck, I'll bring it."

"Great. The flier has my address."

...

The kit took longer than she'd expected to pack up and then unpack at Rachel's house. She'd never expected to actually find someone who'd want to play with her though, so Quinn didn't mind. By the time that she'd unloaded everything, Quinn's white v-neck was translucent and her hair matted with sweat. She felt the onset of one of her dizziness spells, but the excitement of playing for an audience ran too deep to stop her.

Rachel stood behind a glittering microphone wearing the same short skirt she'd worn to school. In her basement hung a few pictures of famous Broadway stars, a picture of Rachel sitting between two men, and a smallish stage where she'd set up her kit.

"Everyone, this is Quinn. She's going to be playing drums." Quinn shyly looked up and waved. "Quinn, this is Noah, my friend. He plays the keyboard and the guitar. Not at the same time, of course. And he's brought along some of his friends from the jazz band."

"Nice to meet you," Quinn muttered to no one in particular.

"So my audition song is going to be a classic," Rachel explained to the group. "Is anyone familiar with the Barbra Streisand classic, 'Funny Girl'?" Eyebrows raised but no one answered. "Anyway, this song is called, 'Don't Rain on My Parade.' Everyone has sheet music, so we're going to take it from the top."

Quinn glanced at the sheet music sitting on a music stand in front of her kit. She hadn't noticed it until that moment. Clearly, Rachel knew little about percussion. She wouldn't be able to turn the sheets as the song played. Quinn quickly flipped through the sheets, doing her best to memorize some of the rhythms and breaks.

"Quinn? Are you going to count us off?" Quinn looked up to see everyone staring back.

"Sorry. I think...I need..." Quinn's heart beat faster.

"Rachel, we only have an hour before Mike's gotta get home for dinner. And I got a hot date tonight that I'm not trying to miss. Let's get this moving." Quinn had seen this guy at school before. With his mohawk, it was hard to miss him. She'd heard a lot of people call him Puck. She couldn't think about much more as her hands got clammier and the drumsticks loosened from her grasp.

"Noah, I understand that." Rachel turned back to her. "Quinn, you were saying? What do you need?"

The drumsticks dropped from her hand, crashing against the snare drum and ricocheting off of the bass drum on their way down. Quinn's bones revolted against her as she slid out of her stool and onto the floor.

"Quinn?" Rachel gasped, as she rushed to her side. Quinn's eyes were cloudy. Rachel's voice garbled in the back of her mind.

"Puck get her some water!" Rachel shouted, worried. "Mike, call 911." Quinn heard that.

"No," she said, too soft at first and and sure Rachel hadn't heard her. "No," she said, a little more forcefully.

Once, a teammate from her soccer team called 911. That was the beginning of the end. She'd smashed her head against the goalpost assisting on a game winning goal. An ER doctor examined her. Not _her_ doctor. Her mother had had to call _her _doctor in the middle of the night to come down and explain her unusual anatomy to the ER doctor. It wasn't an easy explanation and the night actually ended in the early morning with the ER doctor signing a special contract and Quinn's mother's pocket book a few hundred dollars lighter. Quinn's mother forced her to give up contact sports following that hospital visit. The more she could avoid medical emergencies, the easier her life would be.

"What do you need, Quinn?" Rachel's hand pushed her matted hair out of her eyes. "You want to go lie down somewhere more comfortable? Mike, come help me get her up to my bed."

Quinn felt strong hands pull her up and drape her across broad shoulders. Rachel's outline followed closely behind. When she was propped up in a soft place in an impossibly pink room, she heard voices.

"We'll go get the song down from our end of things, Rachel. Probably do it at jazz band rehearsal tomorrow. As for her, I don't know how she'll get it. I have confidence that you'll do great, but if you want, stop by our rehearsal tomorrow."

"Ok, Mike. Thanks." Mike's broad shoulders disappeared out of the room, only to be replaced by a mohawk. "Oh Noah, the water. Thank you." Quinn felt cool water against her lips. She opened her mouth.

"She alright?"

"She said not to call 911. I'll sit with her and make sure everything's alright." She felt Rachel pull the glass away. Quinn's upper lip was moist with water but she was too tired to wipe it off.

"Ok, then I'm gonna head out with Mike. He tell you the plan?"

"Yeah."

"Don't know how she's gonna get it."

"I'll figure something out. See you tomorrow." Rachel's voice was calm, but underneath was a layer of disappointment.

While Quinn slept Rachel quietly pored over the sheet music for her audition, tapping out rhythms and humming to herself. She sat on her pink comforter at the foot of the bed the entire time, glancing frequently in Quinn's direction. She'd seen Quinn around school, but the girl wasn't in any of her classes. She took the time to study her features: shoulder-length brownish blonde hair, long lashes, flushed cheeks with high cheekbones. She'd often seen Quinn in jeans and t-shirts at school, a more tomboyish look.

Rachel was still alternating between her and the sheet music when Quinn woke up.

"Hmm, how long was I asleep?" She asked, her eyes fluttering open.

Rachel turned from her music to look into Quinn's hazel eyes. "About an hour. Do you need anything? Some water? More aspirin? How do you feel now?"

The side of Quinn's mouth quirked into a smile as she was bombarded with Rachel's questions. "No. Fine."

"Don't smile at me, this isn't funny!" Rachel huffed, angrily. "I was really worried about you. We were going to call 911 and have you taken to the hospital and now you're acting like this is a joke. Plus, that was the one good practice time I had to rehearse for my audition. I had everyone in the room together and...and..." Rachel stopped as she felt tears spring to her eyes.

Quinn sat up. "Sorry. It's not a joke. It happens to me sometimes. This medicine I'm on makes me dizzy and sometimes I pass out."

She'd been on the medicine since she'd turned thirteen. Quinn's doctor in Columbus had prescribed it. One spring morning, she'd woken up with an erection. The entire day, she'd refused to leave the house until her mother took her back to her doctor to make it stop. Her mother had never been the type to be sympathetic about Quinn's anomalies. But, Quinn figured, she was better than her father, who had left before Quinn's first birthday, too confused, disgusted, and angry to care about her any more. The next day, Quinn sat in her doctor's office and cried harder than she'd ever cried in her life to that point.

"I just want to chop it off," she'd cried. "It doesn't belong there. And now...now someone might know about it if it happens again. It didn't just go away, it took hours to go away. What if that happens again?"

Her doctor had known Quinn since birth. When the obstetrician had informed her mother about a possible defect, Quinn's doctor was assigned. Until the age of 13, she only saw the doctor once a month, sometimes twice a month. The doctor functioned just as much like a therapist as a medical doctor. They'd talk about things Quinn was thinking, how she was feeling about herself, and changes to her body.

"I'm going to give you this experimental medicine they're using for gender reassignment surgeries, Quinn. Your mother has signed off on it, if you want it. Basically, it will repress the testosterone in your body and reduce the amount of blood flowing to you penis. Any other changes someone might go through with puberty will be avoided, and you won't have any more erections. Is that what you want?"

"No, I want it to go away," Quinn had felt her heart grow a little lighter in that moment.

"Well, that's not an option for you right now. Not without your mother's consent and certainly not at your age."

Quinn had never been able to have a conversation with her mother about the issue. Her mother barely talked to her about day-to-day things, like what was for dinner and when she'd be home that night. "Fine, then I'll take the medicine."

"There are some things we need to talk about if you're going to go on this medicine, though, Quinn. First, very little is known about the side effects of this drug. You'll need to see me more often. Once a week is preferable. Second, you must take this medicine every day. If you don't, it won't work. Finally, you will not be able to have intercourse while you're using this medication and we don't know the long-term effects of this drug on reproduction."

"I don't want to have sex with anyone, boys or girls, and I'm never having children. I don't want them to be like me." Quinn's voice had quieted at the end.

She and her mother left the doctor's office that day with a special prescription and a standing appointment to see the doctor every Wednesday at 5:30.

Quinn knew upon waking up in Rachel's bed that she'd have to tell her doctor about this episode at her next Wednesday appointment. Even after moving to Lima, dropping her doctor could not happen. Her mother had helped her buy her pickup truck so that she could make the 2 hour drive right after school every Wednesday.

Rachel was staring at her, still seething a little. "Do you want me to drive you home?"

"No, I'm good now," Quinn pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and flipped her feet off of the bed. "I'll still be your drummer, if you want me to. Let me take the sheet music home and I'll also listen to a recording of the song. I promise I'll be good."

"Well," Rachel began defeatedly, "You're the only option I have. There's no saying no now."

Quinn sighed.

Rachel watched her pack up her kit and silently waved goodbye as she saw Quinn to her car.

...

By the end of the audition, sweat pored off of Quinn's forehead and she was seeing stars. The beginning was shaky. Just before Rachel came onto the stage, she saw black spots on the backs of her eyelids and felt her hands get clammy. Soon enough, though, Rachel was standing at center stage and Quinn was counting off and then Quinn was doing her own fills on the breaks and then Rachel was hugging her.

"That was amazing! How did you learn that without practicing?"

Quinn smiled shyly, too shocked by Rachel's hug to answer. She dug her foot into a creaky wooden floorboard on the stage and pushed it around.

"I can't pay you, though I wish I could. Dads won't let me get a job. It would interfere with my practice time, anyway. But, I want to do something. Is there something I can do to repay you for helping me?" Rachel's hands grasped her own tightly and Quinn couldn't tear her eyes away from where their skin met.

"There is something." She met Rachel's eyes.

"What? Anything I can do, I promise." Rachel's bright smile nearly rendered her speechless.

"I've been looking to be in a band. A real one. With a guitar and a lead singer. I'd be the drummer, of course. Do you think you'd like to be in a band? I mean, I know it's not Broadway. I know that's where you want to be, but you're a great singer."

Rachel looked around the auditorium as the jazz band members cleared the stage. "Oh, Noah, come here."

"Ladies," Puck always had a lecherous way about him. "What can I do for you two? Great job, by the way, Rachel. You nailed it."

"Quinn here was just talking about getting together a little band. Her on drums, me on vocals. How would you feel about keyboard or guitar?"

"Most definitely. Another way to pick up the chicks, so I am most certainly in."

"What do you say, Quinn? You, me, and Puck?"

Quinn was shocked at how quickly her dream had come together. For the entire summer of sophomore year and all of junior year she wailed away on the drums in her basement and dreamed about practicing in someone's garage, writing songs with a couple of other musicians, and hearing the applause of an audience. "Perfect."

"How about we practice in my basement a couple times a week?" Rachel's basement already had much of what they needed, mainly soundproofing and lax parents. "We'll start tomorrow."

"Not tomorrow," Quinn jumped in. "Not Wednesday. Start Thursday."

"Thursday it is." Puck nodded his head and all three smiled at the start of something new.


	2. Chapter 2

**"Drum Fills in Our Hearts"**

**Chapter 2: A Wednesday with Dr. White**

The two hour Wednesday drive to Columbus was just another part of Quinn's life. She'd been seeing Dr. White for almost all of her life and she couldn't afford to look for a new doctor in Lima. Technically, they'd known each other since Quinn's birth, when her genital abnormality was first discovered in an ultrasound. While a medical doctor, Dr. White served just as much as a therapist as he did diagnosing and prescribing her ailments.

"Quinn, it's good to see you." Dr. White greeted Quinn at the door promptly at 5pm, like always. He'd made a special appointment time for her following her move to Lima.

"Hi, Dr. White." If Quinn was honest with herself, Dr. White was the person she most trusted and looked up to. He was the only person that Quinn had ever truly talked to about her life. She'd never had real friends in Columbus and since moving to Lima, only her newfound friendship with Rachel and Puck was promising.

"So, what's new in the life of Quinn Fabray?" He offered her a warm smile as they took their seats - Dr. White in an armchair and Quinn on the couch.

"Nothing."

"Oh, Quinn. It always starts the same, doesn't it? Nothing's new, huh? I'll pull it out of ya." He teased her like a father to his teenage kid.

"Ok ok, Doc. Things are ok. There's some good stuff and some bad stuff, I guess."

"How about we start with the bad? That way, we can end with the good. We'll both be feeling good by the time we're ready to go home." Quinn had to admit, Dr. White had a way of making her feel good about herself. No matter what they talked in the course of an hour, she always turned the music up in her truck on the way home and drummed along on the steering wheel.

"The bad. Ok. I passed out again." Her eyes sought the floor.

Dr. White's right eyebrow raised and his mouth opened a little. "Hmm. I thought we were over that in Columbus. Just once in the past week?"

"Well...just once, but I felt woozy another time, too. Like, I was almost ready to pass out, but I came back from the brink somehow."

"Once for sure and almost a second time. Hmmm, ok. We have to fix this. You and I both know that feeling this way is not ok. So our strategies in Columbus were to avoid the bullies and keep the heart rate low, right?"

In Columbus they'd been through this before. She'd always been a wallflower and in adolescence that went unappreciated, especially at Benjamin Franklin High School in central Columbus. The mean girls had teased her mercilessly. In ninth grade, she never changed for gym and heard whispers of "loser" and "freak." Those same girls ensured in tenth and eleventh grade that Quinn never had a place to sit in the lunchroom and never had a lab partner in science class. As soon as she'd started in ninth grade, Quinn repeatedly passed out after soccer practices and games. Even her teammates alienated her, figuring it was a stunt for attention that had just gotten old. On the bus at away games, she always sat in the front seat alone behind the bus driver, making shy eye contact with her teammates in the bus driver's rearview mirror. By eleventh grade, she all but gave up on believing she'd ever have friends or a future in Columbus.

"There aren't any bullies," she started, "yet." Being a transfer and a senior probably helped with that. Most people at McKinley just left her alone and acted like she wasn't even there. She usually ate her lunch outside the cafeteria, on a bench, despite the cold winter weather.

"You don't know how happy that makes me Quinn." Dr. White offered her a genuine smile. "So, no bullies. Heart rate?"

"I guess the times that it's happened I've been pretty amped up." Quinn looked beyond him, remembering those two moments.

"Tell me about those times."

"Ok. Well. I met this girl, Rachel." Quinn flashed a glance at the doctor after saying her name. His eyebrow raised again.

"Tell me about Rachel."

"No. No. No. It's not like that. C'mon Dr. White, you know it's never like that." Quinn felt her emotions charge. At times, Dr. White had tried to get Quinn to talk about her romantic life and try to gauge how much the medicine affected her libido. Given Quinn's refusal to talk about it, he figured the medicine had completely dimished any physical or sexual attractions she may have had as a typical teen.

"I said nothing. Tell me about Rachel."

"She goes to McKinley and she's a singer. Also a senior. I think she's a little nerdy, she's always making announcements on the intercom about this club and that club after school. So anyway, she saw me at this music store in Lima, and she introduced herself. She said that she was looking for a drummer to help her out with an audition she had for college. So, I volunteered to help her."

"Despite being 'nerdy,' she sounds like a good person." He made air quotes when quoting Quinn. "That takes a lot of guts to approach someone you don't know and ask for their help, and then ask that stranger to help you out with a meaningful part of your life. Sounds like she's a trustworthy person. ."

"Yeah, I guess." Dr. White chuckled a little at Quinn's assessment. "Well anyway, I went to her house to practice and I guess I got kinda nervous about some stuff. Next thing I knew, I was up in her bed and she was holding a glass of water to my lips."

"You said that you were nervous about some stuff. What do you think you were nervous about?"

"I think there were a few things. I mean, first, there were a bunch of people at the practice. I think seven, which was just kind of overwhelming. I didn't know any of them. Then, she wanted me to play right away and I'd barely had a chance to look at the music. I mean, for a drummer, you have to study the sheet music first, or at least hear the song a few times to get it. At least, I do. And I had almost no time to look at the music and I'd definitely never heard the song before."

"What song?" Dr. White interjected with a grin.

"Uh, something from Barbra Streisand. 'Funny Lady'?"

Dr. White nodded, "'Funny Girl' is a Streisand movie. It must have been a song from the movie. Sorry, go on."

"So I just got freaked out by it all. I wanted to be so good for Rachel. It was her audition for college and I guess I panicked. Next thing, I was in her bed." Quinn swallowed hard, feeling a little ashamed.

"I can see how you'd feel that way." Dr. White was always so good at making Quinn feel right in her own body. "Tell me about the next time."

"Well, this time was at the audition itself. I didn't pass out, but just before we started playing, when the lights were on me and Rachel was kind of nervously looking in my direction, I started feeling woozy."

"What do you think brought it on that time?"

"Nerves again, I guess. And there was so much pressure to be good for Rachel. If I messed up, she might not get into college. I couldn't let that happen. I know we don't know each other well, but I guess it was just how I was feeling."

Dr. White thought about it for a while. Quinn had learned from him how to let silence just sit. She thought back on the audition and how she came back from the brink of passing out.

"I'm glad that you care enough about this new friend Rachel to offer your talents to her. At the same time, I'm concerned about the uptick in these incidences again. Passing out is very dangerous and you need to avoid those situations. What do you think?"

"It's not that dangerous, really though, Dr. White. She just took me up to her bed and I probably woke up like less than an hour later."

"It wasn't that dangerous this time, Quinn. It was certainly dangerous when you passed out in the shower a few years ago. And it was certainly dangerous when you almost passed out driving your mother's car. This isn't something to take lightly." Considering that Quinn barely talked to her mother, she rarely heard such strong words from an adult.

"Let's talk out some of your potential solutions."

Quinn nodded silently, still a little ashamed that she'd taken her own health for granted in front of the one person who seemed to care.

"First, there's avoiding these types of situations. On both occasions, it's been about performances. We could try going back to just practicing, without the performance piece."

"No, Dr. White. I can't do that. Drumming is the one thing that's kept me going and we're gonna start a band - that was my good news, my only good news. I can't give it up when I feel like I'm doing the one thing that I've been wanting to do for so long."

He gave an understanding nod. "I'm glad that you've found a group of friends to help make that a reality, Quinn. So, then, let's look at our other option. The other option is to play with the dosage of the medicine some. We could scale back or take you off of it and see if that allows your conflicting hormones to right themselves. I think those conflicting hormones are what's overwhelming your system and causing your body to shut down."

Quinn's heart pounded at the thought of changing the dosage she'd been on for the past five years. Though she'd had plenty of these "conflicting hormone" issues that Dr. White mentioned, she hadn't had to deal with her abnormal anatomy since she was 13. She'd never had another erection, not even a tingling. It was like it was numb. And it was tucked away and out of sight everywhere except in her own bathroom. Even when she was naked and in the shower, she never looked down at it and closed her eyes when she had to wash it. Even rubbing over it with a washcloth, she felt no stimulation. She feared a change in dosage because it might mean having to deal with the one thing she'd been avoiding most of her life.

It hadn't always been like this. When she was very young, she didn't know to be ashamed of herself. She still held flashes of her early childhood, playing with her "little doodle," as her mom called it. She'd run around the house naked and her mom would laugh. Although her father had left at that point, he hadn't completely skipped out of town. When he'd finally disappeared, her mother's demeanor changed. "Quinn, you are never to appear naked in this house again. It's not right, it's not natural, and I won't ask you again." That was on her fourth birthday. Even that long ago, Quinn still remembers the exact words.

That tone never left her mother's voice after her father left. Quinn never approached her mother with conversation. When her mother decided to speak with her, that tone reappeared. Their conversations revolved around the mundane: dinner time, chores, and occasionally whether Quinn had completed her homework.

"I can't do that," she told Dr. White. "We can't change the dosage."

"Do you have another solution I haven't thought of?" Dr. White always gave Quinn a chance to draw her own conclusions and solve her own problems. She imagined that this was what a good father might do.

"I can't go off the medicine, Dr. White, I just..." she felt desperation slip into her voice.

"We don't have to take you off of it, Quinn. It'll be ok. Let's try to come up with some other idea. Together. Ok?" He came from behind his desk and sat on the couch next to Quinn.

"Yeah, ok."

"Who is in this new band with you?" Quinn looked at Dr. White, sitting next to her. He'd shed his doctor's coat when she walked in. Now, he just seemed like the cool uncle who always gave good advice.

"Well, it's me, Rachel, and this guy named Puck."

"Tell me about Puck." Quinn looked up at Dr. White, trying to get a read on whether he thought Puck was a romantic interest like he did Rachel.

"He's kind of this punk guy, I guess. I mean, he's got a mohawk. He looks a little old for high school. I'm not sure exactly how he and Rachel know each other, but they're friends I guess. I really haven't had a chance to talk to him much, yet."

"So it'll just be you three? Three people you know?"

"Yeah."

"Ok, so maybe we don't have to do a lot of anything. You said that your nerves hit in a large group and in performances. I'm guessing you guys aren't going to jump into any stadium-sellout tours, so just practice with your band and have fun for now. No stadium sell-outs before next Wednesday, right?"

Quinn chuckled. "Yeah, no stadium-sellouts. Probably ever, Doc, let's be honest."

His face turned serious as he looked in her eyes. "Eh, don't count yourself out, Quinn. You've got a lot of talent and a big heart. You're going places. I've always known it."

Quinn could only nod in return.

"So this week: no performances, but let's try these band practices out and keep our fingers crossed. We won't touch the dosage." Quinn noticed that Dr. White didn't make eye contact on the last line.

"Sure, Dr. White. Thanks."

"I'll see you next week, Quinn. Have a safe drive home and a good week."

"Thanks. See ya."


	3. Chapter 3

"Drum Fills in Our Hearts"

_Chapter 3 - In the Fog_

* * *

Quinn arrived at Rachel's house at exactly 4:30. She was pretty sure they'd set the time at 4:30, but she hadn't talked to Rachel since Tuesday. No one answered when she knocked at the door. Just as she pulled the handle to climb back into her pickup, Noah Puckerman's beat-up minivan pulled into Rachel's driveway.

"Quinn, I'm so sorry. When Glee Club practice ended, I tried to find Noah, but he was not in our predetermined meeting spot."

"Rachel, again with the 'predetermined meeting spot' shit? I'm gonna stop giving you rides if you keep blowing me up about this." Puck ran his hand through his unkempt mohawk. This was the first time Quinn had seen it without the rock-solid styling gel holding it upright.

"I'm sorry, Noah. I was simply explaining to Quinn the reason for our tardiness. We have to remember that now that we're in a band we are accountable to all members." Rachel turned back to face Quinn as Puck joined Quinn unloading her kit from the car. "Quinn, I'm so glad you made it on time. Is there anything I can help with?"

Quinn shuffled by red-faced with the bass drum in tow. "Grab the door, would you?" she huffed.

It took less than ten minutes to set up this time. Puck was able to stack and grab a few of her toms and her snare, while Quinn grabbed some of the stands and cymbals. Rachel busied herself preparing lemonade and going through some sort of vocal routine that Quinn caught brief glimpses of as she came into and out of the basement.

When everything was set up they stared back and forth at one another for a moment.

"Huh," Puck muttered. "What are we gonna play?"

"I was just thinking that myself, Noah," Rachel responded.

"I mean, I love metal and classic rock." Puck plucked at his guitar strings.

"That's not really my style," Rachel said. "I wouldn't be averse to some popular music, like Taylor Swift or Kelly Clarkson. Quinn, what about you?"

"I'm up for whatever," Quinn said shyly.

"Oh c'mon, Quinn. You know you don't want to play any Taylor Swift or Kelly Clarkson. You wanna wail, don't you? Can you think of any classic rock songs that might suit our little Broadway babe here?" Puck's eyes darted between the girls.

Quinn felt her face flush as she was put on the spot. Both Rachel and Puck had turned to her. "I don't know. What about Heart?"

"Eh, they'll do. Obviously not gonna get anything as awesome as some Bon Jovi or Guns 'N Roses, but I'll take Heart. Let me look up some of the tabs for 'Alone.'" He pulled out his phone and quickly swiped away at the screen.

"Why don't we all do a little bit of research first? I don't think I've ever heard this song before." Quinn sensed a hint of nervousness in Rachel's voice. Usually she was all confidence.

"Really Rachel?" Quinn was dumbfounded but a grin crept to her face. "C'mon, let's go watch the video real quick. Where's your computer?"

They trio sprinted upstairs to Rachel's room. After three views of the video and a print-off of guitar tabs, keyboard chords, and lyrics, they set off back to the basement.

Quinn hadn't realized just how long it might take to master a classic rock song. It probably didn't help, she figured, that Puck knew the song so little and Rachel didn't know it at all. They'd had to go back upstairs to listen to the song at least four more times. By the end of a two hour practice, Quinn's muscles ached from the combination of sprinting up the steps and beating a steady rhythm against the drums. After the final play, Puck bid his goodbyes and left Rachel and Quinn to themselves in the basement.

"I never thought my voice would be suited for classic rock, but that was amazing." Rachel took a long sip from the straw of her lemonade then threw her body into a beat-up tan sofa that faced the basement's stage. Her feet hung over the edge of the sofa, just grazing against the carpet of the floor.

Quinn took a seat next to her, sweat still running down her back and soaking into her t-shirt. Not once had she felt dizzy, a feat she'd just realized.

"What did you think about practice? Did you enjoy yourself?" Rachel had turned to face her on the couch, pulling one leg up to turn her body less awkwardly. Quinn continued to face forward, feet firmly planted on the ground and back slouched against the couch, slowing down her breathing and hoping to cool off soon.

Quinn closed her eyes as she responded. "Yeah. I really, really did. I haven't had that much fun in a while actually. A really long time."

"Yeah? When was the last time you had that much fun?"

Eyes still closed, she took a moment to think. She hadn't had a real conversation about her past in ages, not counting conversations with Dr. White. But those conversations never counted. Her mom paid Dr. White to have those conversations with her. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd talked to someone her age about her past. "I guess actually being on the field playing soccer was the last time I really had fun."

"I thought you seemed athletic. I didn't know if it was from the drumming or something else. So soccer, is it? Was that when you were back at your old school?"

"Yeah. I wasn't great, but I loved it. I played before I started drumming. Kinda picked one up as I put the other down." Quinn could feel Rachel studying her so she kept her eyes closed but her heart thumped under Rachel's watchful eyes. She worried that if she met them, she'd lose her tongue and just stare awkwardly at Rachel instead.

"Why did you stop?" Quinn felt her heart continue to beat for another reason this time. A nagging fear sunk into the back of her mind.

"Just did."

She felt a hand rest on top of her knee. She opened her eyes to find Rachel with her feet tucked under her facing Quinn. "Well I have to say that I'm certainly glad you started playing percussion."

Quinn turned to look at her, "Me, too."

Quinn headed home shortly after. Rachel had offered her drum kit a home for the weekend if Quinn promised to drop by at some point for a short practice session. As Quinn climbed into her truck, she saw a corner of the blinds pulled back in Rachel's living room, and Rachel's face peeking out from behind, watching her get into her car.

...

Saturday's short practice session turned into a five hour marathon at Rachel's. Puck wasn't there, but that didn't stop the two from practicing what they could. Quinn started the morning at eleven, practicing different drum fills for those breaks that inevitably came in classic rock songs. She discovered very early on in her drumming that she lived for the fill. It was her center stage. She'd always be out of the spotlight - somewhere still hidden at the back of the stage, in the dark, behind the lead singer. And although she drove the rhythm and took a supporting role for most of the song, she was almost always afforded just one moment to show off for the crowd, emerging from the depths of the darkness at the back of the stage. The drum fill was it, and it was her favorite thing to practice.

Rachel let her be for the first two hours. In the second hour, she'd played through "Alone" a few times, working on the lead to the chorus particularly hard. Although it was one of the slowest songs she'd ever practiced, she especially liked the way that she got to pound on her drums. The rhythm of other songs usually moved so quickly that she didn't have the time to concentrate on a single hit like she did with this song.

Every once in a while she'd break from playing to hear muted voices or footsteps from Rachel's kitchen, just above.

In the third hour, Rachel called her upstairs to eat lunch. When she'd arrived at the top of the stairs and in full light, she'd felt her face redden. Her shirt was soaked through and, though her hair was pulled back, sweaty strands of hair had fallen out of her ponytail and were matted to her face.

"You must be Quinn." A tall, middle-aged man greeted her at the top of the basement stairs. He wore glasses and had very tan skin, like Rachel, but not much else in common that Quinn could see.

Quinn wiped her palm against her jeans and extended her hand. "Hi."

"I'm Rachel's dad," he turned back to Rachel and smiled, "well, one of them. You sounded pretty great down there." He then turned back to Rachel before the conversation deepened. "I'm headed off to meet Marty for our racquetball game, little lady. You girls have fun. Don't do anything crazy. Or do!"

Quinn quirked her eyebrow. Rachel's dad - or one of them, this one - was unlike any parent Quinn had ever met. Not that she'd met many, just the few that were on the sidelines at her soccer games. He swept out the door before either girl could respond, leaving Quinn dumbfounded.

"Sorry. I should have told you about my dad - er, dads." Rachel looked down at the pita sandwiches that were on the plates in front of her.

"Sorry for?" Quinn walked to the kitchen island to grab a plate. The pita had some vegetables sticking out of it. While she'd seen a pita before, she couldn't say she'd ever seen one in this form.

"Oh, just, I guess some people don't know that I have two dads. Some people like to be warned about things of that nature." Rachel looked up at Quinn, who had a wad of alfalfa sprouts sticking out of her mouth.

Quinn stopped chewing, then started again. She felt something get trapped in the back of her throat and sputtered. Truth was, she had no idea that Rachel had two dads. The only gossip she'd heard about Rachel was that she was kind of a loser. Hearing that she had two dads shocked her. She couldn't process it. But before she could even pretend to ignore it, or shuck it off with a simple, "It's ok," she was choking and Rachel was hitting her hard on her back.

"Are you ok? You need water?"

Quinn saw some of those tell-tale black spots as her heart sped. Rachel continued hitting her back. She forced down a gulp of water. Finally the vegetable dislodged itself and she gasped for air, the black spots receding.

"Sorry."

"Are you ok? Do you need anything?" Rachel's hand rested against Quinn's sweaty back.

"I'll be fine," she said hoarsely.

They sat in silence for the rest of the lunch, Quinn slowly chewing and swallowing her food like a horse, while Rachel took tiny bites from the edges of her sandwich. When they were finally done, even the crumbs on Quinn's plate were gone, while Rachel had a half a sandwich leftover.

"You sounded really good down there." Rachel was looking up at her again with those big doe eyes that she seemed to get when she was saying something nice to Quinn.

"Uh, thanks, I guess." Quinn met her eyes once but forced herself to look in other places. She wound up staring at the tip of her shoe pushing itself against the hardwood floor of the kitchen.

"How did you get so good so fast? I mean," Rachel sputtered, a little ashamed to have complimented Quinn so outright, "I mean, you just started playing and you're already very good. I've been practicing vocals my whole life."

"Just practice I guess. I practiced a lot in Columbus after I quit soccer." Quinn was still staring at the tip of her shoe. She felt Rachel's eyes on her. She knew what was coming next. She couldn't tell if she'd revealed the information to Rachel so that she could probe deeper, or if she regretted saying so much.

"It seems like you really loved soccer. Why'd you stop?"

Quinn weighed the story in her mind. Nothing was worth telling the truth. "Just had to," she said, with some finality. Rachel's head tilted to the side and it looked as though she was going to press further, but she just swallowed air. "Been playing in my mom's house for a while, so I'm glad I have a real reason to play now."

Obviously dissatisfied with the soccer line of questioning, Rachel shifted to another angle. "You live just with your mom?"

Quinn started to tap the foot that wasn't digging into the hardwood floor. It fell into the rhythm of the bass drum from her practice session. "Yeah. Dad left when I was a little kid. Since that's what you were gonna ask next."

"Sorry," the hand that was on her back was now covering her fingers. Quinn pulled her hand back and Rachel's back straightened. "Sorry."

"Look, do you wanna go practice or something downstairs? Or we can look up more songs to play?" Quinn needed for Rachel's attentions to be shifted.

For the final two hours of Quinn's time at the Berry household, they found themselves alternating between looking up music videos on the computer, laughing at haircuts from the 80s, and tooling around on the different instruments that were in Rachel's basement. Rachel sat down behind Quinn's kit and played an unsteady rhythm as Quinn coached her. Quinn pounded out a few melodies on the keyboard while Rachel hummed alongside.

Quinn wasn't sure who exactly she'd found in Rachel, but she left hoping that she'd at least found someone that she might tell the truth. It was the first time she'd had hope since her early Columbus days.

...

Saturday night, Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday morning slowly ambled by. When Quinn wasn't texting back and forth with Rachel, she found herself thinking about what Tuesday's practice would be like. She pondered the songs they'd looked up on Saturday afternoon in Rachel's bedroom. She thought about Rachel's tone and whether it would fit with the songs she had in mind. She thought about whether Puck might be ready for a more complicated guitar melody, or what they would do without a true bassist. Even though Dr. White told her not to, she thought about the possibility of a concert - maybe an open mic night, or a battle of the bands type thing, nothing more.

Tuesday's practice started much the same as Thursday's. Puck and Rachel arrived a few minutes late, as Quinn sat on Rachel's porch. Puck's mini-van sputtered to a stop in the driveway and Quinn silently reminded herself not to take too many rides in that thing.

About thirty minutes into their session, Rachel took a quick break. It sounded like one of her fathers was upstairs. She'd never been alone in a room with Puck, at least not to her best recollection. She wasn't sure what to talk about and she hoped that Rachel would return soon.

Puck broke the awkward silence, staring in Quinn's general direction without actually staring at her. "She really likes you, you know." He let that sink in for a while. Quinn panicked: _like how? What's that supposed to mean?_

"She doesn't have a lot of friends. I mean, she's popular and shit. She's involved in a lot of stuff. But that doesn't mean that she has friends. On the way over here, all she could talk about was how you guys hung out this weekend."

Quinn could only nod. She wasn't sure what Puck wanted her to say.

"Rachel's like my little sister, man. We met in temple when we were little kids. I was a dick to her. Still am sometimes, but I care about her." Then Puck looked her square in the eye. It made Quinn uncomfortable and she looked away. "I hope you actually are trying to be friends with her and not screw her around. Cause if you're screwing her around..." Puck didn't finish the sentence, but Quinn could see from the clench of his jaw what he meant. Her heart picked up.

Just as Puck was finishing his threat, Quinn heard the rattle of footsteps coming into the basement. It wasn't just Rachel, but her dad from the other night - the racquetballer.

"Hey guys, my dad's home early from work and he wanted to hear our song. Can we do it for him?" Before Rachel could finish her sentence, Quinn started seeing the black spots. Her heart pounded harder and her body warmed.

"I just loved Heart back in the day, guys. I've been so looking forward to this song. Rachel's been telling me all about your rehearsals. I always knew the little lady had some good ol' classic rock in her somewhere beneath all of her father's Broadway pizzazz," he gave Rachel a beaming smile, which Rachel returned, but Quinn could barely hear their conversation.

She wished she would have known that Rachel's dad would have been coming down. She could have practiced just one more time to really make sure her parts were perfect. If Puck missed a chord or Rachel missed a lyric, it was ok, the show would go on, so to speak. But if Quinn missed a beat, it would throw off the whole performance, and it would obviously be her fault.

Before she could think any further, she heard Rachel voice through the fog and black spots.

"Quinn, count us off?" Rachel stood center stage, smiling and playing with the hem of her skirt. One of the track lights from the ceiling combined with Quinn's fuzzy vision gave her a halo. Quinn shook it off and counted off.

Apparently, the song went off without a hitch. Her dad clapped up a storm and called for an encore. Rachel even tried to give him his encore. Quinn didn't remember. Nor did she remember running up the stairs - both flights - and closing herself in Rachel's bathroom. Or turning on the shower and stepping in with all of her clothes on. She doesn't remember Rachel entering the bathroom. She certainly doesn't remember Rachel screaming. At that point, she was face down in the bathtub, blood running from a split in her lip and clouding the water a light pink hue. While she wasn't out cold for long, her blacked out state persisted. Rachel's scream had awakened something, but not her memory. She doesn't remember forcing the girl out of the bathroom and wrapping herself in a warm white towel, blood still staining everything she touched.

The next thing she does remember is her mother standing over her, tucked beneath a pink comforter in Rachel's bed, in a blood-stained white towel. Rachel wasn't in the room.

Judy Fabray whispered through gritted teeth, "Get up this instant and stop embarassing me."

Quinn's whole body felt sore as she pulled her feet out from under the comforter.

"I can't believe it's gotten this far. Do I need to..." her mother's voice raised until she checked herself back down to a whisper, "do I need to call Dr. White?"

She wouldn't even let Quinn answer. Not that Quinn was going to.

"Let's get this straight," Quinn's mother pulled at her jaw until they looked one another in the eye, Quinn from bed-level, her mother standing over her. "We are not moving again because of some mistake you make. You make a mistake here, you live with it. Understand?"

Quinn wasn't sure she wanted an answer.

"Understand?" She repeated.

Quinn nodded her head.

Her mother tossed a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt on her lap. "I'll see you at home. Apologize to the poor girl and her father on the way out."

Quinn changed in silence, hoping that Rachel hadn't heard the conversation. When she opened the bedroom door, she found Rachel sitting outside on the carpeted floor.

"Your mom said she'd see you at home." Rachel wasn't making eye contact with her. Quinn started to see the spots again. Rachel knew. Rachel'd seen her. In the shower. Rachel knew. Quinn felt the urge to run.

Before she could move, Rachel's hand reached up to grab her own. Quinn looked down at her and found Rachel with tears in her eyes. "I was so scared, Quinn. What happened?"

"I don't know. I mean, you know more than I do, I think." The mere act of Rachel taking her hand made Quinn figure that Rachel couldn't possibly know. If she knew, Rachel wouldn't even be able to look at her right now, much less touch her.

"You were in the shower and you were bleeding and it looked like you were knocked out and then the next thing I knew you pushed me out of the bathroom. And then you come out of the bathroom wearing a towel and just climb into my bed." Rachel pulled at her hand until Quinn was sitting next to her on the carpet. She felt Rachel squeeze her hand. If Rachel was a boy, she'd have a broken hand. Instead, it pained her knuckles just slightly.

"You scared me so much, Quinn," Rachel said between sobs. "This medicine is doing terrible things to you."

Quinn sighed heavily. _Maybe you're right_, Quinn thought. If she wasn't careful, Rachel would end up uncovering her secret even with the medicine doing its trick. She was glad that the next day was Wednesday - another session with Dr. White.


	4. Chapter 4

**"Drum Fills in Our Hearts"**

**Chapter 4: A Wednesday with Dr. White**

Quinn's arms crossed tightly against her chest in the passenger seat of her mother's blue Camry. Emptying office parking lots and cars pulling into driveways were a regular scene on her Wednesday commute from Lima to Columbus. She usually didn't have a chance to notice them. As a passenger, she tried to clear her mind and focus only on her surroundings. It didn't take long before her mind drifted to the scene she'd made at Rachel's house and her impending doom in Dr. White's office.

Her mother had insisted. She'd taken off of work - her night shift at the hospital. She'd said it with that strong Fabray jaw and that tone that said, _I dare you to say something back to me. _Quinn knew there was a big change on the way. She didn't want to contemplate what, but that wasn't easily helped.

The ride was silent. Completely. Even her mother's favorite light radio station was cut off five minutes into the drive.

When they'd arrived at Dr. White's office, it seemed that he'd expected the pair rather than a solo. He knew this was coming.

"Judy, good to see you again." Dr. White gave his ever-warm smile and nodded at Quinn's mother. He'd spent enough time with Judy Fabray to know that was all the compassion she'd tolerate. If Quinn recalled correctly, the last tiem they'd seen each other was about a year prior, after her last big mishap on the soccer field at her old school.

"Len," Judy acknowledged with a nod. Quinn felt her mother's and Dr. White's hands against her back, guiding her into his office.

She and her mother sat on the couch for this visit, Dr. White behind his desk. The office seemed more professional than her past visits - the overhead lights brightened the room, the curtains blocked the waning sunlight, Quinn's files laid in a towering stack on his desk.

"Quinn, your mother called me this morning very concerned. Do you know why?"

She felt two sets of eyes burn into her and dropped her eyes to a spot on Dr. White's floor. Her leg began to twitch, setting a rhythm to an unknown song. She nodded.

"Your mother obviously cares about you very much to bring you here to discuss this. Judy, as you remember in our call this morning, I asked you to save our conversation for a time when Quinn could be present as well. Quinn is maturing into a young woman and she needs to be a part of the decision-making about her own life." Dr. White's voice was firm. It had been years since Quinn had heard a man talk to her mother like this. She looked over at her mother's set face to gauge her reaction. Her mother made eye contact with Dr. White and nodded, emotionless.

"I am concerned, Len. A parent called me in a panic yesterday afternoon, someone I have never talked to, nor met in my life." Quinn couldn't bear to look in her mother's direction. She knew she would find disappointment, or anger, or frustration. She'd find the exact thing she didn't want to find from her own mother. "This father frantically told me that he needed for me to leave work at once to come pick Quinn up, that something was very wrong with her. Obviously, I was worried."

Quinn sighed heavily, to the extent that both her mother and Dr. White looked in her direction. "Sorry," Quinn mouthed.

"So I came over. This father, Mr. Berry, said that Quinn had been taking a shower in a girl's room - which," Judy turned to face Quinn with anger in her eyes this time, "what in the hell were you thinking taking a shower in a girl's room? I thought that...that _thing _didn't work."

Quinn felt her face heat up as she found her spot on the floor and her foot resumed its rhythm.

Dr. White cut in to save Quinn. "Judy, let's keep it to what happened and why you're concerned."

"Well, I'm just saying. I'd like to know if I should be worried about someone telling me my child got some hussy pregnant."

"Mom, you know I can't..." Quinn started. Her voice trailed off quickly when she looked up to see her mother's face.

She glared at Quinn, then Dr. White, then resumed. "Doesn't matter. Anyway, this Mr. Berry said that Quinn had collapsed in the shower and his daughter had found her in there face down with a bloody lip. The girl, what's her name, Quinn?"

"Rachel," Quinn said quietly to the floor.

"This Rachel found Quinn on the floor and picked her up and..."

"That's not what happened, Mom," Quinn cleared her throat to speak a little more loudly.

Quinn's mom rolled her eyes and responded, "Well illuminate us, please."

Quinn gave herself a moment to shoot her own glare at her mother. It felt safe in Dr. White's office. While most teenagers could glare at their parents without consequence on a daily basis, Quinn had rarely taken the chance.

"When Rachel came into the bathroom, I guess I woke back up, or whatever. Rachel said that I'd yelled for her to get out and when she did, I covered myself up with a towel and gotten into her bed, where she tucked me in and got her dad." Although there wasn't a single, cohesive memory of the event, Quinn had had enough time and phone conversations with Rachel to piece together a narrative. She knew she'd have to talk about it at her session today, she just didn't know that her mother would be present.

"Still doesn't explain what in the world you were doing in this girl's shower, does it?" her mom asked, voice raised a notch.

"Judy, we can leave that for another time. So, tell us why you called me this morning."

Quinn felt the couch move as her mother took a deep breath and turned back toward Dr. White. Her voice dropped to an almost unrecognizable quiet pitch.

"This medicine." Her mother paused long enough that Quinn looked up and over at her. Judy cleared her throat and continued. "This medicine is not right for her. It's too risky. I don't know what to do and I know Quinn wants to stay on it, but this is not ok. She can't...I can't...it's just not right for her." Quinn continued to study her mother, who stared at a spot on Dr. White's desk. Her face was red and Quinn could have sworn that she heard her voice break in there a few times.

Her phone saved her from saying more. She looked at the screen before turning back to Dr. White. "I need to take this."

"If it's ok, it'll just be myself and Quinn for the remainder of the session, Judy?"

She nodded as made her way to the door.

The silence settled around them. Quinn could faintly hear her mother talking on the phone in the waiting room. She wondered who could have called, if it was work or someone that she was seeing or a relative. She wondered so that she could save herself from the inevitable next words of Dr. White.

Dr. White let her sit in her silence, but only for so long. "So, how are you Quinn?"

Quinn wasn't sure why, but she felt her fists begin to clench and her foot to tap at a faster and faster tempo. Her nostrils flared and she felt herself do something she so rarely did: lose control.

"You don't care, so don't ask me!" She yelled loud enough that she was sure her mother heard. Her eyes bored into Dr. White and she felt her palms begin to sweat. The black spots indicative of a blackout floated behind her eyelids. "You're just wondering what to do with your experiment next. I'm some creature that Dr. Frankenstein gets to play with and you've been rubbing your hands together waiting to start the next step. Why don't we just talk about that?"

She collapsed back on the couch and felt tears drip down her cheeks and onto her jeans. She couldn't stand to look at Dr. White any longer and closed her eyes, letting the sobs come more fully until the wracked her body and sent her doubling over in grief. She didn't know where the rant had come from. She'd never perceived Dr. White in a negative way. If anything, Dr. White was the most familiar man in her life.

When she looked up again, tears still in her eyes, Dr. White was sitting next to her, tissues in one hand and the other hand on her back.

"I've never," Dr. White's voice was quiet. He took off his glasses and Quinn saw him rub his eyes before she averted her own. She didn't think she was supposed to see him cry. "I've never wanted you to feel that way, Quinn. I am so terribly sorry that you do."

She felt the tears spring forth again at his grief, "Dr. White," she began sadly. She wanted to offer him some comfort. She was ashamed she'd lost control.

"No, let me, Quinn, for just a moment. I think your mom is right. I haven't been doing the job I promised to do when I received my license. _Primum non nocere - 'first do no harm.'_I promised that I would not hurt my patients. This medicine has hurt you to a dangerous degree."

Quinn could see that he wanted to continue. She wanted to let him speak. He so rarely shared his own thoughts on Quinn's situation. He usually let her work it out for herself. But, she felt the uncontrollable urge to stop him before he'd said too much and perhaps truly changed his own mind.

"But, I _need_ this medicine," she pleaded through tears. "I _need_it. It makes me right. It makes things as close to the way they're supposed to be as possible right now. I can't explain it, but don't take it away. It's not a mistake." She took a tissue from Dr. White's grasp and blew her nose.

"I cannot, Quinn. I can't," he ran his hand shakily through his thinning hair. "I should never have let it go this far. You could have died in that shower. You understand that, right?"

Quinn breathed unsteadily. "Maybe that would have been easier," she whispered.

It was Dr. White's turn to let the silence sit. After a few moments, he grabbed his notepad from his desk and jotted something down quickly.

"The people in your life care very much for you, Quinn. It would not make things easier. Your life is a precious, precious thing and you should be experiencing it. This medicine is not allowing you to experience it. I will not be convinced otherwise."

Quinn pushed her palms into her eyes. The black spots returned as she pushed at her eye sockets harder and harder. "Please, Dr. White," she begged, almost hopelessly, one last time.

His hand rested again on her back, comforting her. "I'm sorry, Quinn. I don't have a choice."

Her let her cry again. Sobs crushed her forward until her face was in her lap. Dr. White's hand remained steady throughout.

When the room silenced again, Quinn noticed that there were no noises coming from the waiting room. Either her mother had left or she was listening to everything - her crazy rant, Dr. White's consolation, her endless tears.

"I know this isn't what you want, but we have to stop the medicine immediately. If that's no longer on the table, can you think of anything that would make you feel more at ease?"

"Surgery," Quinn whispered, almost immediately.

He nodded, slightly at first, then more noticeably. "Now, you're still seventeen and you can't consent yet. Plus, it's quite a lengthy and expensive procedure. This is something you'll have to talk to your mother about if you want it to happen soon. I need you to understand that. I know you two speak about this topic very rarely, but you're going to need to find a way."

"I understand."

"While we wait for that conversation to happen, can you think of anything else that you might need from me?" Dr. White said as he sat back down behind his desk.

Quinn thought for a moment. "What's going to happen?"

"With what?" Dr. White's brows were furrowed.

"With...you know. What if...it gets...you know..." Quinn's face reddened and she looked back at her spot on the floor.

"If your penis becomes erect?" Dr. White interrupted, getting to the point.

Quinn nodded quickly.

"Well, there are a few ways to handle that. One, you can leave it alone. Try taking a cold shower or doing something active to repress your thoughts and get your blood flowing to other parts of your body. Often, it will go away if you leave it for long enough. The other option is to stimulate it. You can touch it to..."

"Ok," Quinn quickly cut him off. "I don't want to do that. But what happens if it...you know...if that happens at school or something?"

"The best option is probably to excuse yourself. Go to the bathroom." Dr. White seemed to have all the answers.

"What if my teacher won't let me?" Quinn asked, concern rising in her voice.

"Well, I can write you a note that you can take to your teachers."

"It can't say anything about..."

"No, of course."

"Ok. I'd like the note, please."

Dr. White turned to his computer to type the note. Though his focus was on the screen, he addressed Quinn. "I'm also going to prescribe you an antidepressant Quinn. You're going through a lot of emotional turmoil right now and you've expressed some thoughts that can be classified as harmful. It's going to be a low dosage for now, but I think it's in your best interest."

He stopped typing and looked over at her. Quinn nodded her assent.

When they emerged from his office, almost forty minutes over schedule, her mother sat bleary-eyed, mindlessly flipping through a magazine.

...

The ride home lacked the relief Quinn thought might come following Dr. White's decision. Cold wind whipped in through a crack in the window, drowing out the quiet sounds of light pop from Quinn's mom's favorite Columbus radio station.

After thirty minutes on the road, Quinn's mom spoke. "Want to go to Hal's?"

Hal's was a Fabray landmark. As a waitress, Judy Fabray first cut her teeth in the working world at Hal's. Quinn's favorite (perhaps only) story from her mom's past was hearing the story of how Judy had accidentally spilled a platter of steaks and burgers in the lap of a presidential candidate who was in town campaigning amongst "the rest of America" in suburban Columbus. Hal's was the site of many a Fabray celebration, including Quinn's last day of middle school and her first soccer goal.

It was a place of comfort for the two-person Fabray clan, as well. Quinn could still remember that almost broken look on her mother's face when they'd visited Hal's after Quinn's father had said his final words to them. She remembered how badly she wanted to make her mother happy - drawing crayon pictures of their happy family on the back of the paper placemat. Her mother hadn't even looked at it. She hadn't even looked at her.

They pulled into the neon-lit parking lot, which was bustling with young families looking to feed their toddlers and have a nice night on the town.

Quinn ordered her Hal's regular: a hamburger with American cheese and extra pickles, no onions. Quinn knew before it had even come out of her mouth that Judy would have breakfast for dinner. Whenever they had a happy meal together - which is to say, almost never - Judy would make pancakes and sausage, or an omelet and fruit salad.

Quinn expected to entertain herself as they waited for their food. Her phone was almost on the table, ready to tap out a text message to Rachel, when her mother spoke quietly.

"How's your new school?"

It was barely new any more. Quinn had been there for two months. Most mothers would have asked the question after the first week, not the first two months. Still, Quinn felt her heart warm at the question.

"It's ok." She wasn't sure how much more she could say before her mother cut her off.

"Your classes?"

"They're alright," Quinn paused, but found her mother awaiting the rest of her answer. Judy's attention seemed to be divided between looking around the restaurant and waiting for Quinn's answer, but Quinn continued. "Math is easier than it was here. The Spanish teacher doesn't seem like he knows what he's talking about. But I like band class."

"Hmm," Judy turned her attention back to Quinn. "Maybe you can talk to your counselor about getting into some more rigorous classes."

"Maybe." It was Quinn's turn to split her attention. Her mother never had conversations with her. She worked to figure out the angle.

"Who's this Rachel girl? Is that where your drum set disappeared to?" Quinn's stomach dropped at the mention of Rachel. She remembered her mother's attack on the girl back in Dr. White's office. Rachel was not _some hussy_.

"Yeah, she's a classmate. She invited me to be in her band. We practice at her house."

"Are you..." her mother's voice dropped and she looked around before she leaned in across the table, "are you seeing this girl?"

"No, mom." Quinn said, that acerbic teenage tone touching each word.

The food arrived in time to save Quinn from any further embarassing conversation with her mother. As much as she relished her mother's attention and care, she did not want it to be over potential relationships that she wasn't interested in anyway.

They ate in silence. With her mother in a conversational mood, Quinn pondered between chews whether it was an opportune time to bring up the surgery. She looked up over her burger to find her mother's sad, tired face.

They finished the meal in silence, the only noise was Quinn's mom's fork clinking against her plate.

By the time they were back in the blue Camry and on their way to Lima, Quinn's mind had already moved past thinking about the surgery and it was focused on the next day. Thursday. Her first day in nearly five years without medicine. Black spots dotted the backs of her eyelids until she fell into an exhausted and restless sleep at 3 o'clock.


	5. Chapter 5

"Drum Fills in Our Hearts"

_Chapter 5 - Out of the Fog and Into Mire_

* * *

Thursday's practice was pretty routine in Quinn's book, despite the fiasco of the last practice. They learned a new Heart song and Puck even found a way to put an original twist on it. Rachel only had to run upstairs to talk to Dad once. Quinn got tons of compliments from both Puck and Rachel for her playing. It seemed like the way a typical practice should run. At the end of practice, while Rachel was fixing lemonades for herself and Quinn, she and Puck sat down at Rachel's keyboard and played a competitive rendition of "Heart and Soul." Quinn had never seen Puck look so much like a little boy. Pure joy was written all over his face and he finally didn't seem preoccupied with being 'cool.' When Rachel returned from the kitchen, Puck packed his equipment to leave, like usual, but promised a "Heart and Soul" rematch. Quinn decided she actually liked him.

When Puck left, she and Rachel found themselves on the basement couch sipping lemonades, like the closing of most practices.

"So." Rachel began, then stopped.

"So?" Quinn's brow knitted in confusion.

"Are you feeling better?" Quinn had been dreading this conversation when she arrived at Rachel's. What with the practice and the piano competition and the compliments, she had nearly forgotten that it could happen after practice ended.

"Yeah, thanks." She looked down, hoping that her lack of eye contact meant that the conversation was over.

"Was it the medicine?" No such luck. She'd have to explain.

"Yeah. The medicine." She could see Rachel fidgeting in her seat, getting herself worked up. She braced herself for a speech.

"I told you that medicine was no good. Something that does that to you can't be helpful, I don't care what it's for. What's it for anyway?"

"Doesn't matter. My mom and my doctor made me go off of it." Quinn took a glance at Rachel, who seemed relieved.

"You make it seem like you didn't want to go off of it."

Quinn didn't respond. She didn't want to have to explain just how badly she needed the medicine. She didn't want to have to explain how the medicine made her feel more like who she was supposed to be. She didn't want to have to explain who she was supposed to be. Rachel stared at her for a while before she realized that she wasn't going to get an answer.

"Why did you get so mad at me when I came into the bathroom?" Rachel's voice was small and concerned.

"I don't remember that," Quinn responded. Truth was, she remembered pieces. Truth was, she could answer that question whether she remembered the event or not.

"Well the shower was going and going and going and I was calling your name but you weren't responding. I figured out the lock on the door and came in and found you kind of face down in the shower and there was blood and then you kind of groggily looked over at me like you were waking up. I screamed. I couldn't help it but you made me so scared. When I screamed, you just looked over at me with this terrible look in your eyes and you yelled at me, 'Get out! Get out!' So I got out. And when you came out of the bathroom it was like you were a zombie. You just walked right past me and got into my bed and fell asleep so that I couldn't wake you." Quinn could see tears springing to her eyes. She thought back to all of the things she should have done differently. If only it had been different.

"I'm sorry," Quinn said as she felt Rachel's fingertips push their way into her sweaty palm.

"Quinn?" Rachel looked up at her inquisitively. "It scares me to say this, but..."

Rachel let a long pause hang in the air. Her eyes searched the room, looking anywhere but Quinn's. Quinn found herself looking longingly into Rachel's dark brown eyes, wishing for a specific ending to that sentence but unable to pin down exactly what she wanted her to say.

"It scares me to say it, but..." Rachel began again. Quinn felt her palm sweat more against Rachel's fingers.

"You're the closest friend I have." Quinn sighed heavily. It wasn't what she was looking for, but she wasn't exactly sure what she was looking for. She just felt a little empty, despite Rachel's major revelation. She knew that she should have felt more. She'd never had a friend say something like that to her.

"Mine, too," Quinn replied.

It was Rachel's turn to take a deep breath. Then, she smiled broader than any smile Quinn had seen since her NYADA audition.

"It's just," Rachel began with renewed confidence and zeal, "I feel like I can talk to you about anything. Anything, you know? Like if I'm having a bad day, or Puck's getting on my nerves, or the Glee Club kids are being jerks, I can tell you. Everyone else makes fun of me, but you never make fun of me."

"Well I haven't yet." Quinn interrupted.

The color dropped out of Rachel's face. Her mouth hung open from being caught midsentence and now from shock.

Quinn then gave a bright smile, brighter than any Rachel had ever seen. Even at the NYADA audtion.

"Just kidding, Rach, just kidding!"

...

Saturdays at Rachel's had become a routine, as well. Usually, Quinn got a little bit of alone time in the basement, wailing away on her drums. Since she'd decided to leave the kit at Rachel's, this was one of the few times that she got to practice on her own. She'd bought a small drum pad for practicing a little at home, but it was nothing compared to the feel of sitting behind her set.

The deafening booms of the bass drum and the high snap of the snare didn't fail to set her heart in motion and her brain on mute. Everything else went silent except for the rhythms she pounded out. She didn't have to think about keeping someone else's time or watching for visual cues from her bandmates. It was just her and her set.

Some Saturdays, she found Rachel sitting on the basement steps, staring down at her. It hadn't bothered her. Not usually. Rachel was quiet and she almost never knew that Rachel was watching until she'd stood up and decided to take a bathroom break or go get Rachel for a jam session.

This time, when she stood, her mind clicked back on. Her heart was still racing, blood pumping through her body. When she stood something felt different. It took a moment to place it. Something was wrong. She stood in place over her throne just waiting. Maybe her heart would slow in a moment. Maybe she wouldn't physically feel the blood flowing through her veins in a moment.

She looked down. Her sweats were bunched at her crotch. She reached down to adjust. To no avail. Her first erection without medication. Her first erection in almost five years. The second erection of her life.

A gasp echoed through the silent basement. Quinn snapped her head back over her shoulder. Rachel's body was quickly shuffling back up the stairs and into the kitchen above.

Quinn felt like crying. Or throwing up. She felt like kicking the whole drum set over and punching the raggedy basement couch so hard that her knuckles bled. She felt like finding a pair of scissors or a knife or _anything _to cut the dreaded thing off.

Her heart beat at triple - even quadruple - time. She was lost. There was nothing she could do any more. She paused at Rachel's basement outside door for a moment longer, pondering her options. She couldn't think of any. She'd leave her kit. She wouldn't talk to Rachel. And she'd pray that she could show up at school on Monday morning without the angry, disgusted glares of her classmates.

It should have only taken her five minutes to drive home but Quinn found herself taking every back route possible. Once she got home, she'd only have time to think. She didn't want to think. She drove until the gas indicator clicked on, then pulled into her mom's driveway and sank into her bed.

She'd offered up the first prayer of her adult life, simply:

_Please God, no_.

...

"Where are you?" Quinn had finally picked up her phone after Puck's eighth call on Tuesday afternoon.

It seemed that God had answered her prayers. Whatever she didn't want to happen - whatever that 'no' was for - worked in her favor. There were no disgusted faces. No one taunted her or called her names. In fact, it felt like any other day. Tuesday was the same. Still, she didn't want to see Rachel. Things wouldn't be the same with Rachel.

"Where are you?" Puck said again, angrily.

"Home. I don't feel good, Puck." Quinn put on that scratchy, gravelly voice she'd practiced a few times on her mother.

"You were in school today and you love playing too much to make up some bullshit like this. What the hell, Quinn?" She could feel Puck's anger through her phone. "I'm coming over. You better let me in or you're gonna get a rock through your window, got it?"

He didn't give Quinn a chance to answer.

Not five minutes later, her was pounding on her front door with a brick in his hand.

"Couldn't find a rock," he said as Quinn answered the door. He placed the brick back along the Fabray walkway and walked inside.

They sat on the living room couch, the television on mute and an uncomfortable silence filling the room for the moment. Just as Quinn was about to offer him a drink, he began.

"What the hell, Quinn? No bullshit, what's going on?" His voice had softened since the phone.

Quinn's face felt hot and her foot wore a spot in the carpet as she shook her leg uncontrollably. She couldn't tell him. Rachel obviously hadn't told him. There was no need to tell him. But still...

"I can't see her any more." Maybe that could get her out of it.

"Rachel? You're like her best friend." Puck's voice suddenly got angrier again. "Remember what I told you when we first started this band thing. Don't fuck with her, Quinn. She's too fragile. Don't be a dick. I don't care that you're a girl, I'll get my sister to kick your ass."

Quinn took a deep breath. "I'm...different. I can't explain it. I just know...I just can't see her any more. Sorry."

"First," he'd calmed down a little bit, but she could still feel an angry tinge in his voice, "you don't apologize to me, you apologize to her. Second, you're no different from anybody else. What, are you gay? Everybody's a little gay now, or a lot gay if you're like that Hummel kid. No one cares. Get over it. You're not special."

He looked at Quinn to see if she'd admit to being gay. No dice.

"Are you secretly a NARC? Are you like spying on us? Are you building a case against me? I got out of that stuff, I swear, so that can't be your excuse." He stopped and stared into the distance, heavy in concentration, "I did kinda think you looked a little bit older. But if I ask you if you're a cop, you have to tell me, right?"

He snapped his eyes back on her, checking to see if she'd admit to being a NARC. Nothing.

"What do you got like twelve toes or something? Look, I got a third nipple. It's not that big a deal. Sometimes girls ask me about it but it's cool, you'll be alright."

Quinn wanted to laugh, but he'd hit a little too close to home.

He scooted closer to her on the couch and put his arm around her. "Look, Rachel doesn't care. Believe me. She's the most kind, accepting person I've ever met. I should definitely know cause I've put her through more shit than maybe everyone else at McKinley and somehow she still lets me come to her house on Tuesdays and Thursdays and play in this awesome band with you. She's the greatest person I know and really, at the end of the day, she cares about her career, singing, Broadway, and her friends - long as they don't stand in the way of any of those other things." Quinn looked up and found Puck looking straight at her. "Go see her. She's upset and right now, you're standing in the way of all of those other things."

Quinn took another deep breath and nodded.

Puck had already tapped out of practice for the afternoon. They would have only had another fifteen minutes before he'd have to meet his standing Tuesday fuck buddy.

Rachel's Dad didn't seem to know anything different. He'd greeted Quinn at the door like an old friend, directing her to the basement steps.

Quinn could see Rachel's back from the top of the stairs. She took a deep breath and walked down.

Rachel didn't even turn around to look at her, so she took her usual post-practice seat next to her on the couch. It felt like hours before she'd worked up the courage to say something.

"I'm not like other people, Rachel."

"I don't see how that concerns me, Quinn," Rachel bit back, angrily.

"You're right." Quinn stood to go, anger seething inside. She hadn't felt angry like this since...she couldn't think of the last time she'd felt this kind of rage fuel up inside of her. Rachel was a selfish brat and Quinn wanted nothing to do with her narcissism.

"Stop. Wait. I'm sorry. I just...you hurt me so much by ignoring me. This has happened before. Someone likes me. They come to my house. We have a great time. Then, something happens. Something clicks in them and they realize how annoying I am, or how spoiled I am, or how talented I am. And then, suddenly, that person who I thought would be my first best friend is now my mortal enemy." Rachel looked hard into Quinn, anguish in her eyes.

"I'm not one of those people. I'm not dropping you. You're dropping me."

"What?" Rachel frowned. "I'm confused."

"I'm not like other people and you're dropping me."

"Do I get a say in this?" Rachel asked angrily.

Quinn couldn't respond.

"People don't tell me how I'm supposed to feel. No one ever has. So just tell me how you're not like other people so that I can know and we can keep being friends."

"Wait," Quinn felt her throb through her chest, "you don't know?"

"Know what?" Rachel said, a hint of anger still coming through.

"You didn't see?" Quinn replayed Saturday morning in her head. Maybe Rachel hadn't gasped. Maybe Rachel hadn't rushed up the stairs. Maybe it had all happened in her head.

"I'm..." Rachel began haltingly. Quinn could have sworn Rachel looked down at her lap. She felt a tingling. "I don't know what I saw. I saw something. I just...is that..."

Quinn cut her off before she could say anything. "You think we'll still be friends no matter what?"

"What are you a murderer or something? I mean, we're not going to be friends if you're going to prison. Unless you have a good reason. Do you have a good reason for killing someone, Quinn?"

"Calm down, Rachel. I didn't kill anyone. I..." Quinn's heart sped and her breaths came in short, loud gasps. She erupted into a coughing fit and stood, stumbling to the bathroom to rinse her face and wash her mouth out. Slowly, she sank down onto the cold tiles of the bathroom floor and covered her face in her hands. The blood rushed to her head as she dropped it between her knees and held her breath. She couldn't be sure how long she'd been in there before her breathing evened out and the rush of thoughts stilled in her mind. She decided for the first time in her life that she'd tell. She'd tell.

Quinn sat back down next to Rachel, who looked like she'd been sitting there for years, not twenty minutes. She glanced at Rachel's face and saw that the girl had pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and looked at Quinn every other moment.

Quinn looked down at a spot on the floor and spoke quietly. "At first, the doctors said I was a girl. I stayed a girl in their eyes for a while. My mom had my name all picked out and everything. It'd be 'Quinn,' same as now. A few months down the road, there was a problem with the sonogram. Some defect. Dr. White was called in. At the time he was some sort of specialist in birth defects. He was supposed to take a look at me and then prescribe my mother something to fix me. Well, he took a look at me and had never seen anything like me before. I guess when he looked at it, it seemed like maybe I had a...a...you know."

"A...?" Rachel hadn't made the connection. Or, if she had, she couldn't voice it. Her brow was furrowed and Quinn could have sworn that she edged closer to the arm of the couch.

"A penis," Quinn whispered almost inaudibly. She refused to meet Rachel's eyes, or even look in her direction. She didn't want to see her reaction. She didn't want to see the look of horror on her face. She didn't want to see her get off the couch and demand her to drive home.

It felt like forever before the static cleared from her ears and she heard Rachel mumble. "Ok."

Rachel reached out seemingly to take Quinn's hand, but pulled back when it was halfway across the couch. Quinn only saw the hand pull away out of the corner of her eye.

"It's just...I don't...I don't know." Quinn ran her right hand through her hair and looked up at Rachel's sad eyes, then broke eye contact.

"I...I don't know what to say." Quinn imagined that had been a first in Rachel's life.

Quinn shook it off. She'd already started. Talking more couldn't hurt, she figured. "So, I had one. But it was really small. He couldn't tell for sure. He said there wasn't any other clear physical evidence about whether I was a boy or a girl. They ran a bunch of genetic tests to determine chromosomes, but all that revealed was that there were abnormalities."

"What did you parents think?" Rachel looked up in genuine concern this time. The words came out of her mouth as thought she had no control, as though it was a genuine thought that had popped into her mind. Her hand drifted across the couch to graze against Quinn's pinky finger.

"I don't know. We don't talk about it." Quinn felt the heat of Rachel's hand, but remained concentrated on the spot on the floor.

"Not even once? Like when you were younger and confused?" Rachel's brow was furrowed.

"I'm older and still confused," Quinn retorted quickly. "Anyway. We don't talk about it. Dr. White won't tell me what their reaction was, so it must have been bad."

"I'm sorry, go on. I didn't mean to bring them up." Rachel covered her hand in earnest now. Quinn's hand felt trapped in the warmth of Rachel's.

"When I was born, I came out and I didn't have a...a vagina. I had this really small nub thing. And...boys have...well...my testicles...they were undescended. So I didn't exactly look like a boy either."

"Like a Ken doll maybe?" Rachel smiled and rubbed her fingers against the back of Quinn's sweaty hand.

Quinn gave a slight smile and looked up at Rachel. "I guess."

"So what happened?" Rachel held her smile for a moment and Quinn felt a stirring inside of her.

"I was Quinn and my parents decided to raise me like a girl. I was a girl at the beginning, I was a girl in name, and there wasn't really conclusive evidence that I was definitely a boy. Dr. White told them that they could raise me however they best saw fit as parents. I think that's what he said."

"I see. So they raised you as Quinn the girl. Are you happy with that?"

"Well it got more complicated."

Rachel noticed Quinn break the eye contact again. "Want to take a break? You ok? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"It's ok. I've just never talked to anyone about this."

"Anyone?" Rachel was shocked. She couldn't imagine a life with so few sharing sessions. She'd been having almost daily "feeling frenzys" with her dads in their wallpapered breakfast nook before school since she was five years old.

"Just Dr. White. But my mom basically pays him to listen to me. I guess it's her way of washing away the sin of not loving your own child." Quinn was staring out down at the carpet again.

"Oh, Quinn." Rachel sat in silence for a while waiting for Quinn to break it. Finally, she realized Quinn wouldn't be the one. "You can tell me anything. You are a wonderful, kind, beautiful person Quinn Fabray."

Quinn shook her head for a while without saying a word. "You don't have to say those things to me Rachel."

"I know I don't. I say them because they're true and you need to hear them."

Quinn felt her stomach rattle up into her chest. Her palms got sweatier and she felt a flush creep over her face. "Thanks," she whispered, looking up into Rachel's eyes.

"Tell me more." Rachel seemed desperate.

"My dad left. Not right away. He stuck around for a while, coming in and out, but I guess he was too weirded out by it all."

"By...?"

"By not being sure he had a son or a daughter. By coming home to find his wife crying about the same thing. By changing my diaper or seeing me run around the house and being confronted by something that's disgusting."

"You're not disgusting. Please stop. You're not allowed to say those things in my presence." Rachel's brows were knitted and her hands gripped at Quinn's shoulders, forcing her eye contact. "Do you understand?"

Quinn was shocked by her aggression. She nodded.

"He left. And my mom shut down after that. I don't know what a mom is supposed to be like, but I know my mom is not a mom. Not sure that makes sense."

"Oh Quinn, I'm so sorry."

"So anyway, most of elementary school, I just had this little thing. I was pretty small. Just a couple inches. I never touched it..." Quinn stared down at her crotch before she noticed that it had drawn Rachel's attention, too. Quinn felt her cheeks heat up and cleared her throat nervously. Under Rachel's gaze, Quinn felt that stirring again.

"Never?"

"Well not really. I had to point it to go to the bathroom, but..."

"Oh." Rachel took a glance down again.

"At around the beginning of middle school, it started to get a little bigger. Just a little though. Like another inch or inch and a half. But I also started to get boobs. Little ones. Dr. White thought it was part of the hormones kicking in. Like a mix of boy and girl hormones."

Rachel's cheeks were red but she pushed ahead with her next question. "How big is it now?"

"Three inches," Quinn whispered, staring at the white carpeting below Rachel's bed.

It took a long time for Rachel to respond. In that time, thoughts raced through Quinn's mind. _Why did she want to know? What size was the 'right' size? Had Rachel seen other penises? Would Rachel see mine?_

"Ok." Rachel wasn't sure what else to say. She didn't want to say anything about Quinn using it for pleasure because that would make them both uncomfortable. She didn't want to compare it to what she'd heard the average penis size was for men, because she didn't want Quinn thinking that she thought of her as a man. So she just said, "ok."

"Dr. White said that the medicine's probably responsible for the growth in cup size on my chest. They aren't big, but I do look like a girl up top. The medicine also just kind of made sure that it didn't do anything, basically."

"Hmm." Rachel seemed to be replaying Quinn's last thoughts in her mind. "Hold on, what would it do exactly? Is it gonna dance a jig?"

They both laughed and Quinn felt relief that she could have this conversation with Rachel without her being completely weirded out.

"You know, what they do when you get into the teenage years. You know, Rachel."

Rachel sat for a moment, thinking. Her mouth dropped open as she realized.

"Does yours...?"

"Well not on the medicine."

"But that medicine was making you so sick, Quinn. I found you face down in the shower. You could have drowned."

"But they made me be who I wanted to be, too. I don't want this thing. I wish it would just disappear. It's not supposed to be there. It doesn't belong on my body." Quinn was the closest to tears that Rachel had seen all night.

"Oh, Quinn. Come here." Rachel was actually the one who scooted forward on the couch before pulling Quinn into an awkward, seated hug. Quinn felt Rachel combing her hair back and whispering "Shhh" in her ear.

When she felt the tears subside, Rachel's legs were touching her own. The warmth of her body made Quinn sweat more than she felt like she'd ever sweat on any soccer field.

"Would you rather be dead or live with this 'thing' as you call it?" Rachel whispered to her.

"Sometimes I don't know," Quinn replied, staring at Rachel with tears in her eyes.

"Quinn. Don't say that." They sat in silence for another spell. Their legs touching on the basement couch. Rachel's hands once again clasping Quinn's hand, fingers dancing across her palm and the back of her hand. It seemed to her like a few more blonde hairs had sprouted up on the back of her hand since going off the medicine.

"What's it like being off of it?" Rachel whispered, looking again up into Quinn's eyes.

Quinn felt another rush of perspiration and heat and trembling inside.

She cleared her throat and blinked back the tears. "I don't feel sick."

"That's good."

"Yeah, I guess." She didn't want to tell Rachel about the other side effects, but she could tell just by looking at the steady concentration on Rachel's face Quinn knew that's what she was thinking about. She was probably just looking for the exact polite words to ask the question.

"Does it...does it 'do things' now?" Rachel whispered. She was staring down at their hands, clasped together.

The room fell silent except for the whir of the overhead fan. Quinn looked up at the exact moment as Rachel and gave a short nod, before looking away. She expected for Rachel to quickly let go of her hands and escort her down to her car, but Rachel held on. Again, that steady look of concentration wrapped up her mind.

"Are you hungry?" Rachel asked, after what seemed like hours.

Quinn nodded, as their hands finally broke free and Quinn trailed after Rachel down into the kitchen. The rest of the afternoon was like any other afternoon. They ate a snack, did some homework, talked for a while about one of Rachel's various clubs, her forthcoming trip to NYADA for her callback, the band, Quinn's drum kit. By the time Quinn was driving home, it almost felt like the conversation hadn't even happened.

But then, she felt a stiffening in her shorts and the whole talk replayed itself in her mind. By the time she was back in her darkened room, she could practically feel the heat that Rachel had caused within her all over again. She wasn't sure how she'd had the self-control to keep the erection away during their conversation. Rachel was so close. She'd leaned over and hugged Quinn and all Quinn could feel was Rachel's breasts pushing against her own. The smell of Rachel's lotion filling her nostrils. A wisp of Rachel's hair ticking her neck.

Quinn willed it to go away, but thoughts of Rachel kept swelling it further. She pushed her hand beneath her shorts. She'd taken to wearing some of her old soccer shorts now that she was off of the medicine. At times like these, if she was wearing soccer shorts, it didn't feel so restraining. She estimated it had probably grown to about four and half or maybe five inches. If that were to happen at school, she'd be discovered right away.

It reacted to her touch, pulsing. Her hips jutted forward, pushing into her hand. She traced her forefinger and middle finger up the shaft and over the tip, noticing a small amount of fluid that she brushed on her thigh. She ran her fingers back and forth over the tip, feeling her hips press up a little each time.

Her mind went back to Rachel, squeezed up against her, their legs touching. Rachel's eyes looking into her own. She closed her eyes and tried to blink Rachel back. She knew that thinking about Rachel right now was wrong. It was shameful and inappropriate. Rachel's face popped back up as she used her thumb and two fingers to form a ring around her shaft, pulling up. As her fingers pushed down, her hips jutted back up.

She knew that she should feel ashamed. She knew this wasn't right. She knew that even if touching herself was ok (which it wasn't), thinking about Rachel while she did it was a cardinal sin. But it felt too good. She'd lost control. This was why she took the medicine. So she'd never lose control to bodily urges. Here she was, without the medicine and doing just that.

A moan emerged from the pit of her stomach as her fingers stroked faster and her hips rocked with the rhythm. Flashes of Rachel were all that were left in her mind. Eyes. Faster. Legs. Faster. Breasts. Faster. The bed creaked beneath her weight. In the darkness she heard her shallow breathing alternate with low-pitched gasps on every other beat.

She could feel something in the depths of her. Something big. Control was too far gone. Her eyes were squeezed shut. Her fingers worked at a fever pitch. The skin of her shaft chafed at the steady, hard friction. The muscles in her legs tensed as she neared.

A loud, surprising moan echoed against the walls of her empty room. Her hips jutted forward a final two, three, four times, pushing hard against her fingers as they concentrated on massaging just the swollen head. The front of her shorts was wet, her fingers sticky. The shame plastered against her shorts as a reminder.

Thankfully, her eyelids felt heavy. Before she could dwell too much on what she'd done and the embarassment she should be feeling, Quinn fell asleep, hand unconsciously still massaging beneath her soccer shorts.


	6. Chapter 6

**A Wednesday with Dr. White**

Dr. White usually had another client just before Quinn. She usually had to wait a few minutes flipping through the pages of an old _Highlights_magazine, or some garbage with Oprah Winfrey on the cover. She usually had a few minutes to recount her week or to figure out exactly what she wanted to say during their session.

This Wednesday, she walked in to find Dr. White in the waiting room, waiting for her.

"Quinn," he stood up quickly almost as soon as the door cracked open.

"Dr. White," Quinn paused for a moment at the door's opening, surprised to see him there.

He moved toward her, extending his hand to welcome her in. "Come on in." He looked up at her, still standing in the doorway. "I'd expected to get a phone call from you this week."

Quinn remained in place, still frozen by the door's threshold. "Why?"

He returned her look of confusion. "Come on into my office. We'll talk about it. We have plenty of time."

The blinds on the windows were slatted open, allowing the waning sunlight to reflect across his desk and the couch pushed against the wall. Quinn took a seat there, while Dr. White's back was turned to her. He dug around in the cabinet for a moment, then faced her with his stethoscope and clipboard.

"Before we begin, I wanted to do a little check-up so see how your body is reacting without the meds. Do you mind?" He was as gentle as ever, yet Quinn felt her heart speed.

"Umm, uh-uh," she shook her head.

He ran through some of the standard tests she remembered from her last physical with him. Dr. White may have been her regular Wednesday psych appointment, but he served as Quinn's pediatrician, as well. She couldn't risk the chance of another doctor taking on her case. There would be too much explaining to do. It was simpler this way.

He mumbled a few things to himself after listening to her breathing. She couldn't make out what he'd written on the clipboard, but he was usually pretty straightforward, so she'd expected to hear his findings soon enough.

It felt like ages before he sat down in the armchair by the sofa, clipboard on his lap. Quinn felt a bead of sweat trickle down her back as she considered the direction their conversation might go. And the directions she didn't want the conversation to go.

"Things are looking pretty normal on the medical side of things, Quinn," he started. "I'd like to take some blood before you leave, just to run a few additional tests - mainly hormonal, but also blood pressure and the usual. That ok?"

She nodded.

"So, like I was saying, I half expected to get a call from you at some point this week. When we last met, you were very concerned about going off of the medicine." He looked at her warmly. "It's a week later, how do you feel?"

Quinn had always told Dr. White the truth. There was never anything too damning to share in past visits. In past visits, they'd sit and talk about her week at school. Sometimes there'd be some run-in with her mom that they'd spend the whole session poring over. At other times, the entire session would be dedicated to their shared love of horror movies.

This visit was different. This visit carried with it the weight of those sticky gym shorts she'd surreptitiously thrown away the next morning just as the trash was picked up. This visit carried with it the embarrassment of Rachel's breasts playing through her mind on a loop. This visit carried with it the stench of shame connected to her first ejaculation. This visit, she'd decided, had to be different.

"I'm good. I don't feel much different, really." She'd only looked up and met his eyes once. Dr. White didn't seem to notice as he scribbled away on his clipboard. The clipboard was getting much more attention than past visits.

"Mmm hmm." He let his assent sit between them - a doctor's trick. She knew this one, but she almost always played into it. Let the silence sit and the patient will say more.

"I mean, I'm not feeling lightheaded, which is good, I guess." Quinn's brain short-circuited in that instant_. If I just pretend that I feel light-headed without the medicine, maybe he'll say it was never the medicine in the first place and I can get put back on it. I can always lie to get what I want. Dr. White has no idea what's going on with me. _She cursed herself for not having this planned out before the visit.

"That's excellent." Dr. White continued to scribble away. She was thankful, at least, that he wasn't looking at her or he'd pick up on her discomfort.

"Walk me through the week. Tell me about each day and tell me about your feelings that day." He looked up and gave a brief smile. Quinn felt her hand loosen its tight grip on the arm of the sofa for an instant.

"Well..."

"Oh, I'm sorry to interrupt, Quinn. I should probably explain: I'm taking all of these notes because it's very important that we capture both the medical information, like your heart rate, et cetera, and the emotional information now that you're off of the medicine. In future weeks, we'll be able to converse similarly to all of our past sessions, but I just need to capture this data, if you don't mind."

"Um, ok," she began, staring at his clipboard as he took copious notes, even while she wasn't speaking. "Thursday I didn't take the pills for the first time. School was fine. After school, I had band practice with ... the band. That was fine." She'd almost said Rachel's name. She felt her face flush and her heart beat a little faster. The shame bubbled back to the surface.

"And what feelings do you associate with Thursday?" He looked up and got a read on her face.

Quinn felt a tinge of anger seep in. When Dr. White wasn't looking at her, it wasn't hard to lie or brew up a story. With him looking, she could feel his scrutiny. She didn't want him to be looking at her. She wanted to feel guilt-free in using whatever story she chose - made up or not. After all, her current situation was his fault.

"I don't know," she snapped back, "it's too long ago."

"Were you angry?" He put his pen down and continued looking at her. "It seems like that's your feeling right now."

Quinn ran a shaky hand through her hair and watched a few strands of blonde swipe back in front of her eyes. "Yeah I'm angry." She clenched her jaw and fought back the urge to cry. Her hand and eyes came to rest on a thin unraveling thread on the arm of the sofa as she plucked at it.

"Ok. Tell me more."

She didn't want to. With the medical check at the beginning, this session only had about 20 minutes remaining. She could sit in silence for it all. She didn't have to share. Dr. White, after all, she reasoned, was the one that had made her feel this way. He'd taken her off of the medicine.

She could feel his eyes on him for the next few minutes, but her eyes remained staring at the thread unraveling on the arm of the couch. She pulled it between her index finger and thumb, slowly contributing to its further unraveling.

"Are you angry at me?" he said quietly.

He fingers stopped their work and she glanced at her wristwatch. Ten more minutes.

"Did something happen, Quinn?" She felt the seat cushion next to her sink as Dr. White took a seat next to her. She twisted her body away.

"I don't understand, Quinn. You said earlier that you don't feel much different, but you're not talking to me about how you feel now."

Quinn felt her back molars grinding and her jaw jutting out. It hadn't been a conscious move, but she noticed it now. Anger seethed from her. Her back was turned to Dr. White, her forearm flexed as she pulled harder and harder at the thread unraveling from the sofa. Her mind flashed with bursts of anger and possible reactions to Dr. White's next move. If he put a hand on her, she would leave and never come back, she decided. If he kept talking, she'd tell him to shut up and leave. If he just left her alone, she'd wait out the remaining five minutes and leave at the usual time. She'd already decided she wouldn't be getting her blood drawn.

"I know this isn't our typical session, but it's really important to monitor your behavior and feelings as this medicine wears off." She could hear him pause. She knew he had to say more. Something had snapped. She didn't feel in control any more.

"Stop! Just shut up! Stop talking! Can't you see I don't want to talk any more? Is it that hard to see? Sometimes people say things are fine just to get other people to shut up. I just want you to shut up and leave me alone." She was standing now. She didn't know when her body had decided to push itself off of the sofa.

Dr. White's mouth was agape, his pen fell to the floor. "Quinn, I'm..."

Quinn didn't hear the rest of his sentence.

The office door slammed, then her car door. Her head pounded.

In her hand was the thread, now fully unraveled from the couch.

...

She'd had to pull over once on the drive home from Columbus. The roads were too blurry and her body heaved too mightily as sobs wracked through her. Her thoughts didn't make sense. They flew into her mind in terrible whirls and then whipped back out before she could combat them with logic.

_Dr. White would never want to see her again._

_Her mother would threaten to stop paying for Dr. White's sessions._

_She'd never stop hating herself and especially the body that tortured her daily._

_Her new friends would never accept her._

_Rachel would tell everyone._

_Rachel knew about what she did in private._

_The monster that lived in her father now lived in her._

It was far later than she expected it to be when she'd slowly twisted the front door open. She saw her mother's silhouette before she'd even turned on the light. One of those terrible thoughts from the drive home was about to come true, she reasoned.

"Where have you been?" It wasn't angry, nor accusing. It also wasn't loving, or concerned.

Quinn placed her keys on the key rack and moved toward to stairs.

"No. Quinn. Come here." This time she heard a shade of emotion pull through her mother's voice. It was so rare that she couldn't detect an appropriate word for the tone.

Slowly, her feet took her up the steps, ignoring her mother's command.

She was about halfway up when she heard her mother's footsteps quickly scuffle up the stairs toward her. Her hand landed on her shoulder as she whipped Quinn around. She braced herself for a fight. Instead, the same cold hazel eyes stared back at her for ages.

"Since when do you care?!" Quinn finally broke. The bare walls echoed with the booming of her voice.

"Since when do you care, mom?!" Her voice cracked on the second shout as her body sunk to the hard wooden steps. She wasn't sure how her mother reacted - everything was a blur again as tears flooded her eyes and she wailed her sorrow through the empty house.

It could have been minutes, but it felt like hours. Quinn found herself cradled against her mother, being rocked against her chest. Her red t-shirt had turned maroon from her tears. Her hair felt damp as she noticed her mother repeating _I care I care_against the crown of her head.

She wasn't sure she had the strength to make it to her bed.

Nothing was as it was supposed to be. Her body was the constant - it had never been right. Her mind was now fading away into anger and grief. Her support system had floundered in its wake.

She woke the next morning as the front door quietly shut, slumped against the bannister of the stairs.


	7. Chapter 7

"Drum Fills in Our Hearts"

_Chapter 7 - Formulaic_

* * *

Her mother didn't even ask her why she was still at home at 1:30 when she stopped in for her lunch break. She was wearing her putrid green hospital scrubs and had dark bags under her eyes. Quinn was sitting in the kitchen, a few drops of milk from her cereal bowl sprayed across the countertop.

Her mother had paused in the doorway, a little shocked to see her home, Quinn supposed. She took a deep breath in and an audible breath out, then walked to the fridge to prepare her usual sandwich.

One thirty in the afternoon was the break between jobs for Judy Fabray. Since moving to Lima, she'd taken on the early morning nursing shift at the local hospital. From 3:30 to nearly midnight, she'd find herself at one of those chop-shop emergency care storefront clinics, dragging hacking patients from the waiting room to the exam room, where they'd wait forty minutes for the overworked doctor on call.

"Home today?" She looked across the counter, up from her sandwich preparation, at Quinn, who was staring into the leftover milk of her cereal bowl.

Quinn nodded, still looking down.

"Need anything?" Her mother said softly.

She shook her head. Her voice wasn't to be trusted.

"Ok."

Quinn's mind had been blank all day and she intended to keep it that way. In the early morning she'd moved from the stairs to her bed and quickly fallen asleep. At around eleven, she found herself tossing and turning in her covers, unable to will herself back to sleep. At 11:30, she was absentmindedly flipping through television channels, never landing on one for more than a few minutes. At 1:25, the grumbling in her stomach became too overwhelming and she grabbed the easiest thing she could find.

She emptied her bowl in the sink as she heard her mother slip out of the kitchen with her plate and up the stairs. On those few occasions when she'd stayed home sick she knew that this time was most often a time for her mother to catch up on a little sleep. She went back to the television and turned it down a few notches, resuming her channel-flipping.

The loud thrumming of her phone vibrating against the glass top of the coffee table woke her up.

_Rachel_.

She looked over at the clock. 4:15. She was missing band practice.

She didn't want to talk to Rachel, but she also didn't want to deal with Puck storming into her home, like last time. She picked up.

"Hello?" She tried her best to retain the groggy voice she knew she'd had from waking up.

"Quinn, where are you? Puck and I are waiting. Well, I'm waiting. Puck said he might be back if you show up." As usual, Rachel was buzzing a mile a minute.

"Sorry, Rachel. Not feeling well. I should have called you." She whispered, a scratch still remained from her exhaustive sobs the night before.

"Yes, well." Rachel paused. Quinn wanted her to keep talking. Rachel usually kept talking. She thought about opening her door to find Rachel, with some homemade soup and a movie. They'd get under a blanket and she'd feel the warmth of Rachel's skin against her own. "I'm sorry you're not feeling well, Quinn. I hope you feel better soon."

She felt the air deflate from her lungs. "Thanks," she whispered and heard a click on the other end.

It took a while to fall back asleep on the couch. Their conversation played back through her head another hundred times.

_What if I hadn't picked up? Would Rachel have come over? Maybe she'd be over here right now and I'd get to see her. _

_What if I'd asked her how she was doing? Maybe Rachel would have kept talking and they'd have one of those conversations like best friends have. One of those conversations that only ends because someone falls asleep on the other end. _

_What if I'd just gone to practice? It would be like nothing happened at all. It would be like I was still back on the medicine and we were just hanging out and Rachel didn't know about me, about my..._

_But if I'd gone to practice, I'd be able to see it in her face. I'd be able to see that she knows. There'd be a little twitch. Or there'd be some coldness, like there was on the phone. Maybe she'd have told Puck. _

Her brain raced until it had worn itself out. The muted television flashed light across the darkened room as Quinn softly snored.

She only woke again when she felt a brush of warmth against her forehead and the click of the remote, shutting off the tv.

"Quinn, go upstairs." Her mother was whispering, very close by. A hand, not her own, ran through her hair and down to the nape of her neck.

She took the stairs slowly, closely followed by her mom. She didn't even change out of her clothes as she collapsed against her bed for another night of dead sleep.

...

Friday happened much the same as Thursday. Her mother paused in the doorway just a little longer this time at lunch, probably contemplating how to get Quinn back to some sense of normalcy, Quinn imagined. She'd struggled even more than she had on Thursday with keeping her mind empty.

In the afternoon, not long after the front door clicked shut and she knew her mother had disappeared to the clinic, she found herself flipping through Rachel's Facebook pictures. Her cheeks flushed as she clicked again and again, studying Rachel through her past year in pictures. Rachel in a pure white dress, kneeling in front of that mean cheerleader as she sang in last year's production of _West Side Story_. Quinn wondered how Rachel might look kneeling in front of her.

Rachel standing on her tiptoes, eyes searching as she sang to that giant football player, Finn, during Glee club. Quinn wondered if Rachel would ever look at her that way if she joined the Glee club. No matter, she wasn't much of a singer.

Quinn closed her eyes and tried to imagine it. Rachel in front of her. Rachel looking up at her. Rachel searching her. She felt herself harden against the fabric of her cotton sweatpants.

She shook her head to rid her mind of the thoughts. She'd been friends with Rachel. She'd been at Rachel's house. She'd even been in Rachel's bed. These thoughts had never plagued her before.

She flipped through some older pictures. Rachel, again with Finn, on the stage. Finn kneeling down and holding her hand as she sang to him with a bouquet of some type of flowers in her hand. She was wearing one of those mid-thigh pleated skirts. Quinn had seen them so often. It was like Rachel's uniform, but she'd never noticed the tone and smoothness of Rachel's legs. She imagined grabbing a firm thigh and squeezing until it bruised a little. Her hips twitched suddenly at the thought.

Before she could think about what she was doing, her fingers were hovering over the center of her sweatpants and gently rubbing the fabric against her skin underneath. Her right hand abandoned the mouse and brushed down against her own thigh, squeezing tightly just above her knee.

Her eyes trailed back up Rachel's leg on the screen. She'd run her fingers up the back of Rachel's legs until she found the lace of her underwear. It'd be pink, she decided. Black was too mischievous, not like Rachel. Red assumed too much sexuality. Rachel was innocent. She closed her eyes and felt her pelvis begin a shallow rhythmic thrusting against the slow massage of her hand. Her right hand continued to flex and grasp tightly at her right thigh. She could feel a burning in her right forearm from the strength of her grasp.

She opened her eyes back up to see that giant, Finn. Her right hand quickly abandoned her thigh and reached for the mouse, clicking back, back, back, until she found a yearbook shot of Rachel leaning against her open locker in an argyle sweater vest and another short, short skirt.

Quinn found her left hand pulling up the elastic waistband of her sweatpants to pull herself out. She didn't dare look at it, but wrapping her fingers around it, it just seemed bigger than the last time. She didn't want to dwell on the thought too long, but she imagined maybe it had something to do with the medicine. She gasped a little as the cool air whispered against it. Her right hand returned to her thigh, grabbing even harder this time. She could feel the skin on her thigh break under her fingernails.

She knew it was wrong. Staring at this picture of Rachel as her hand slowly, steadily picked up the pace, as her fingers experimented with trailing down the base of the shaft, running along the underside, collecting some fluid from the tip, and slowly running back down. Her right hand would be her disciplinarian - punishing her body as she pleased herself. Her nails dug hard into her thigh, clenched so hard that her forearm hurt, and she released, only to do it again. As her left hand sped its pace, her right hand moved in concert.

She clenched her eyes shut in the final moments. Beads of sweat dewed against her hairline and trickled down the side of her face as her brain and body fought against one another. Her hot breath condensed against the computer screen as she found herself breathing heavier and heavier, muted gasps at every other exhale as she willed her release. She could feel it building, then ebbing, then building more intensely, then ebbing.

She imagined what Rachel might look like - beneath her, on top of her, beside her - trembling, just as Quinn was, gasping, just as Quinn was, body violently working, working, working. Quinn's hips thrust harder as she clenched her jaw. Rachel, mouth open, eyes tightly shut. Quinn's left hand shallowed its strokes until just her thumb, index, and middle fingers rubbed frantically against the top two inches. Rachel, breasts heaving with her harried moans.

Before she could do anything to stop it, a spray of sticky white semen spurted from the tip, erupting against the screen, the desk, her sweatpants. Her hand gradually stroked through her release and into her shame.

As she found her bearings, she unclenched her jaw and the tightness of her right forearm. Beneath, she found five small bloodstains against her gray sweatpants. She opened and closed her right hand, stretching it, and making note of the traces of blood beneath her fingernails.

She wanted to climb into her bed and forget everything. She wanted to immediately fall asleep, just like last time. Except the evidence was in plain view this time. She grabbed the first old t-shirt she could find from her floor and wiped down the screen and desk. She closed out the picture on the screen. She'd deal with the sweatpants and the t-shirt rag in the morning.

She didn't hear her mother come home that night. She didn't hear her phone ring that night. Instead the shame of her actions rattled through her tired mind.

...

There was a voicemail waiting for her on Saturday morning.

_Hi Quinn, it's Rachel. I hope you're feeling better. If you're up to it, I thought you might want to come over tomorrow. I can give you the work you missed in Mr. Stevenson's class and we can play a little, too. Call me back. _

Quinn rolled into her pillow and buried her face deeper. Rachel must know. She grabbed the pillow tightly until she felt her muscles clench and her arms begin to shake. Rachel had to know what she'd done last night. Rachel must know about the picture, about the scars Quinn left with her fingernails, about the traces of semen still on her sweatpants. She couldn't call her back.

She rolled back and forth in the bed for another hour, leaving the phone on one side of her body, only to roll back over, pick it up, and replay Rachel's voicemail. She did it again and again until her phone beeped at her to be recharged.

Downstairs a note waited for her on the kitchen counter.

_Quinn,_

_I made us an appointment with Dr. White tomorrow. I'm off of work and he's agreed to meet with us a little sooner than usual. Please be ready to go at noon. _

_Mom_

She swore Monday would be the day that she'd go back to school. The weekend would be enough recovery time. But now, tomorrow, she'd be bombarded with adults telling her what she was doing wrong and how she needed to fix herself. Tomorrow would be full of talk on "getting better" and "doing what's appropriate."

She sat down on the couch and tilted her head against the backrest to stare at the ceiling. Nothing was getting better. Nothing would get better. She'd have to make better happen. Or something.

She ran back upstairs to grab her phone. Rachel's picture was on her screen before she'd even fully processed that she'd called her.

"Hello?" Rachel's voice wasn't the cheer she was used to.

"Uh, hi." She wanted Rachel to be her usual self, not this muted, cold girl on the other end. Maybe she was just projecting.

"What's up?" Rachel waited.

"Well. You called me. Last night. I just got the message today." Quinn waited for some recognition.

"Oh right, yeah Daddy had me call...I mean, it's just been a while since you've been over here. Your drum set is collecting dust in the basement and I actually brought home some of your work. Mr. Stevenson was asking if anyone was friends with you and I volunteered to bring it home."

"Uh huh." Quinn wanted to pick every word apart and snap at her, but this was the girl of her literal dreams.

"So, do you want to come play for a little bit or pick up your work or something? I can't hang out for long, I've got a..." she stopped and searched for words. Quinn rarely heard Rachel pause mid-sentence. "I've got something to do tonight. That I need to get ready for."

"Yeah, why not. I'll be over in a few." She couldn't decide if agreeing was the right choice. On the one hand: Rachel. On the other hand, that paranoia wore inside of her, tormenting her. _Rachel knew what she did last night. _

It took her longer than expected to take a shower and pick out her clothes. It had been nearly three days since her last shower, she realized, as she scrubbed extra hard at the fingernail marks still fresh on her thigh. She willed them, and the reminder of her shame, away. She'd settled on a tighter fitting pair of jeans, her red converse sneakers, and a plain white t-shirt. She'd never done flashy, but she felt good in this outfit. Maybe Rachel would think so, too. Maybe that frigid tone would melt into warmth upon sight.

...

Rachel's dad answered the door, cheerier than usual.

"Quinn!" He smiled, flashing a full set of enhanced white teeth. "It's so good to see you. We were just talking yesterday about how long it's been since you've been over here. Gave Rachel a little nudge to call you up."

So there it was. This wasn't Rachel's idea. That lingering unsettled feeling she'd had on the phone was right. She wanted to turn around and go home in that instant, but the disappointment from Rachel's dad would have been too much.

"Anyway, Rach is in her room, if you wanna go on up."

Quinn nodded and looked toward the stairs. Rachel Berry probably didn't want a freak like her in her room.

She noticed that the door was open as she reached the top of the stairs. She stored away the image of Rachel Berry, head resting against her palms as she read a book on her bed. The swell of her backside had left about an inch of space between the pleats of her skirt and her legs, where Quinn imagined a shock of cool air might hit her underwear and leave her with goosebumps.

She shook her head and moved toward the door.

"Rachel." Rachel scrambled off the bed, ruffling her pink comforter, as she stood to greet Quinn. "May I come in?"

"Um, well, let me get your things...your homework, I mean, and we can go downstairs. Ok?" Quinn felt justified in her self-loathing - Rachel didn't want the freak in her bedroom. Rachel's eyes bored into her as she awaited Quinn's answer.

"Yeah," she nodded. "Fine. I'll meet you down there."

A few minutes without Rachel and her jaw began to clench. _Rachel knows. _She wished she'd stayed at home.

When Rachel came downstairs, she'd just tell her that it was best they end their friendship. She'd tell her that she had some pathological lying condition and Rachel should never have believed any of the things she'd said to her the other day. Rachel would believe that, right?

Rachel had somehow crept her way downstairs before she'd had enough time to come up with the full plan.

"So, Thursday in Mr. Stevenson's class we learned more about derivatives. He said that you should review the examples on page 331 and do some problems. I put a post-it note on the problems that we did in class. On Friday we took a quiz, so I guess just study what we learned this week." Rachel had the book flipped open. Quinn looked at the book and snuck a look at Rachel as she explained the week's work. Rachel's thigh was almost touching hers on the couch.

"Thanks." She stared down at the open book that rested halfway on her lap and halfway on Rachel's.

"Are you ok?"

"I'm fine." Quinn took a deep breath, but wouldn't look up.

She could feel Rachel's eyes on her and a stirring beneath her jeans. The material was tight enough that it probably wouldn't show, but she still clenched her jaw and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping somehow to make the feeling go away. She felt Rachel's warm hand over her own, still resting atop the calculus book.

"Can I tell you something, Quinn?"

This was the moment. Quinn gulped, swallowing air and saliva. Her chest hurt. The stirring grew more. This was what she was waiting for. _If Rachel kisses me, will I be a good kisser?_ _If Rachel tells me she likes me, what should I say back to her? Anything, Rachel, you can tell me anything_. Her mind raced but her mouth was sealed shut.

Quinn turned her head toward Rachel, ready for the good news, ready for a kiss.

"I'm going on a date." Rachel's eyes were bright and her hand gripped at Quinn's, clenching it tighter.

She wasn't sure she was breathing. She wasn't sure that she had Rachel's hand still in her own. She wasn't sure of anything.

"Ow, Quinn, that hurts," was the next thing she heard as Rachel gave her a pained look and pulled against her hand.

"Sorry. I'm sorry." Quinn released her hand and stared forward.

"Did you hear me? What should I wear? I've never been on a date. Have you been on a date before? I mean, you're so beautiful, of course you've been on a date, Quinn. What am I thinking?" Quinn couldn't tell if Rachel was joking or not. She had to be joking right. _Rachel knew. _If Rachel knew, then she also must know that there was no way Quinn had ever been on a date. Her molars ached. She didn't realize how hard she'd been clenching her jaw.

"It's with this guy in Glee club. I've had a crush on him for a while. Like a long time, actually. He's just so tall and handsome. He's an all-American guy, too. He plays football and wears polo shirts and drives a truck." Rachel had to be mocking her now. She'd never be an all-American guy. She'd never be able to live up to this guy's appeal. Rachel was flaunting him in her face.

"So, do you think I should go with a dress or a skirt?"

That did it. Rachel had to know. She'd mentioned the skirt in front of Quinn. The skirt that Quinn fantasized about. The skirt that Quinn dreamt of running her fingers beneath. The skirt that Quinn took a mental snapshot of, while Rachel was reading on her bed. Rachel had to know. Quinn's paranoia bubbled over.

"Wear whatever the fuck you want Rachel." Her voice was barely above a raspy whisper. Rachel's eyes blew open as she continued. "Go on your date with your all-American, normal _boy_. Wear that short, slutty skirt for him and let him do whatever he wants to you. That's what you want, isn't it? Some man to just put his hands all over you and use you? You're disgusting."

Quinn couldn't process the words as they spewed from her mouth, crescendoing at every sentence. "And when he's done with you, I hope you think of me. Think about how nice I've been to you. Think about how I didn't even know you and I played for your college audition. I helped you get into _college_. Think about those Saturday mornings when we'd drink lemonade on this couch and I'd let you talk to me all about Broadway, this stupid shit I don't even care about. Think about that time when you called me your _friend." _Her voice dropped off into barely a whisper at the last word. Rachel's mouth hung open.

"Think about how I told you _everything_." Her voice cracked into a sob, as she stood with tears in her eyes. "I told you everything," she whispered.

"Quinn..." Rachel began.

The binding of the calculus textbook strained as it bent against Rachel's bare thigh, now without Quinn's leg to rest against.

Quinn didn't hear the end of Rachel's sentence. She didn't care how it ended. She knew there wasn't a happy ending to this chapter. There wasn't a happy ending to any chapter.

* * *

A/N - Consider this my apology for the length between updates. There's one more chapter left to Part One. Thanks everyone.


	8. Chapter 8

**A Sunday with Dr. White**

The hour-plus ride to Columbus felt like just minutes to Quinn. Budding trees and greening grass brightened the world without her. The car ride was just as crushing as ever.

The radio mumbled too low for either Quinn or her mother to hear. She slumped in her seat most of the way, a hood pulled up and strands of blonde shadowing her eyes.

She'd considered disappearing that Saturday night. Spending the night in her car somewhere. Ensuring that she'd be missing as her mother prepared to drive to Columbus. Pretending that she'd never seen the note. But the effort would be too much and the payoff not enough.

Her history with Dr. White told her that this meeting would be for the best. They were in the depths of the most difficult point in her life. She'd just decimated her only friend into what she was sure was some scandalized state from which they'd never recover.

She'd drowned herself in shame, self-loathing, uncontrollable anger, paranoia, and regret. She'd been saved once before. In Columbus. By her mother and Dr. White. They'd determined that a change in location would be best for her. Her mom had gotten two jobs in Lima to support them. Dr. White had agreed to extended hours on Wednesday to continue seeing her in Columbus.

It again came down to the only two people who'd ever buoyed her.

She'd go to Dr. White's office. She'd tell him the truth. Or, some version of the truth. She wracked her mind for the words that would match the truth. A line from a poem from English 3, back at Ben Franklin High came into view - _Whatever satisfies the soul is truth_. She'd tell Dr. White what she knew. She'd tell him how she felt. She'd tell him everything inside of her. That would be her truth.

The office was dark when they entered. Dr. White sat in the waiting room, reading the Sunday paper in clothes more casual than Quinn had ever seen him wear.

"Len...I..." Quinn heard a choke from her mom and looked over to find her face screwed up in grief. She pulled the hoodie back over her head and cast her eyes down to the ground. She couldn't remember if she'd ever seen her mother cry.

"It's ok. It's ok, Judy. Come on," he came to grab Quinn's mother's hand and led her into the office. Quinn followed quietly behind.

Her mother was dabbing at her eyes a little by the time Quinn looked up at her from the couch where they both sat. Dr. White had taken a seat in the armchair Quinn usually saw him sit in during their sessions. His blue jeans and button-down flannel shirt seemed out of place in the office, Quinn decided.

The room was quiet for quiet a while except for a few sniffles from Quinn's mom and Dr. White clearing his throat once or twice. Quinn kept her eyes steadily on the ground and every so often dug the tip of her sneaker into the carpet below. Lies and stories and clever methods to avoid the truth kept popping into her head. She'd had so much time to prepare for this visit. She'd been thinking so hard recently about a way to just avoid it all. But every time a lie felt too real, she'd push it away. She had to remind herself that today was about the truth.

"Quinn, what's going on?" Dr. White's voice, as always, was rapt with fatherly concern. At the last session, that would have made her explode in anger. Today, it only made her sink further into the couch in shame at her previous behavior.

She looked up briefly, just to read his face, before sharply darting them back to the floor.

She shook her head as she recalled the behavior that had transpired since her last visit to Dr. White. She'd lied to Dr. White about nearly everything in her last visit. She'd refused to talk to a man who'd cared for her more than any other man in her life. She'd yelled at her mother and sobbed herself to sleep perched atop the stairs in her house. She'd skipped school for two straight days for no other reason than the constant paranoia that wracked her brain when she thought about simultaneously maintaining a friendship with Rachel and touching herself at night thinking about Rachel. The paranoia along with self-loathing had reached such a point that when Rachel invited Quinn to her house, she'd boiled over with rage. She'd believed through her entire visit to Rachel's that Rachel did not truly want her friendship. Rachel knew the truth about her and thus, couldn't possibly want to maintain a real friendship. Certainly not anything more. Which was all Quinn could think about. Something more.

She recounted most parts of the week to Dr. White. But, with her mother in the room, she left out many of the parts about Rachel. Instead, Saturday's events became just another day of self-loathing and anger. At least so long as her mother remained. Dr. White looked on with concern, mumbling "Mmmhmmm" and "I see" once in a while. While she never looked over at her mother, Quinn never felt her mother's eyes on her. She did occasionally see her mother dab at her face with a tissue.

At the end, after a bout of silence and a tremendous weight lifted from Quinn's soul, Dr. White finally spoke: "Ok, Quinn. Let's take some time between the two of us. Judy, I'm going to ask for you to give us some time and I'll call you back in a little bit."

When they were left to their own, Dr. White resumed. "Is there anything going on that you didn't want your mother to hear, Quinn? I know there are certain things that are more difficult to talk about in front of family."

Her eyes ducked to the ground again. All of her stories and lies flooded her mind, making it nearly impossible to block them out. After a moment and a deep sigh, as if to expel the untruths, she began.

"I lied to you last week, Dr. White." Her voice dipped so that her words were barely audible. "I...my body...it's reacting."

Dr. White's brows furrowed for a moment, but found recognition as he nodded. His silence signaled Quinn to continue.

"I didn't want this to happen. I didn't want it to do anything. It was never supposed to do anything. But it did. And it was because...of...a friend." The last two words were barely a whisper. Dr. White must have read her lips.

"It's the body's natural reaction sometimes, Quinn. That doesn't mean you're a bad person or a bad friend."

She felt her head begin to shake back and forth before she could put words to her thoughts. "It does. You're not supposed to do that to your friends. It's disgusting. How am I supposed to look her in the eyes?"

She nearly choked when it clicked that she'd said _her_. Dr. White's face, of course, hadn't changed, but she'd left herself just enough time after that sentence to really think about what she'd just said. _Her_. Rachel. They'd never talked about sexual attraction. Dr. White had never asked if Quinn liked boys or girls. The topic had never even reared its head.

She felt sick. As if all of her secrets had just been tortured out of her.

"I know it feels strange, but there are times when we can't help the body's natural urges. As much as we want control, there are times when instinct takes over." He paused for just enough time to let his words sink in, but not enough for Quinn to continue dwelling in the self-loathing of masturbating to fantasies about her Rachel.

"I believe that these sudden changes - both mental and physical - are coming as a result of the changing testosterone levels in your body now that you're off the medicine. I know it's scary having all of these sudden feelings. Feelings of shame, abrupt anger, violent thoughts, depression. Some of these are a direct result of the change in testosterone levels and some of these feelings may be a result of just feeling out of sorts."

"I'm not a good person when I'm like this, Dr. White. If being on the medicine wasn't good for me, look at what being off of it is doing for me." Her voice rose as she felt more and more helpless discussing the state of her body.

Dr. White took some time to process Quinn's thoughts. As if out of nowhere, he straightened his back and asked a question that Quinn thought quite out of place.

"In an ideal world, Quinn, tell me about your life." He fingered the pen and pad that sat atop his lap.

First, it took her a moment to settle into a new line of conversation. Then, she was caught between a realization that an ideal world was all that existed and an ideal world would never exist. She'd thought about her perfect life over and over again - during those boring rudimentary writing classes in Columbus, on her long drives back from Dr. White's regular Wednesday night appointment, when her mind wandered between calculus problem sets. But the reality of that ideal life simmered below the surface always. No one would ever love her. If the people who created her couldn't love her, then how could she expect anyone to love her? The world would never be ideal.

"An ideal world doesn't exist, Dr. White." She answered in monotone.

"Humor me then." He'd eschewed his pen and kept his eyes trained on her.

She heaved a deep sigh. It pained her to admit her longings. In their sessions, they'd never made it past where Quinn might go after high school graduation.

"A successful job. Getting to travel. Some good friends."

Dr. White nodded. "A successful job. Anything in particular?"

"I guess maybe something with my drums, if I'm good enough." She fell silent for a moment when she remembered that her drum kit was still at Rachel's house. She wondered if there was any way to recover it without having to see or talk to Rachel or her dads.

"Well this is an ideal world, so let's assume you're good enough." He smiled back at her. "Would you like to travel anywhere in particular?"

"I don't really have anywhere in particular in mind, I guess. Just places. I want to see what people are like outside of here."

"Outside of Ohio, you mean?"

"Yeah, like how people act and what they look like and what they think." Her sneaker twitched against the carpet.

"There's a whole brilliant world out there waiting for you, Quinn. We don't need an ideal world to have that. You're lucky." He smiled again, reassuring her. "And good friends?"

"Yes," Quinn felt the cold creep up her limbs and her jaw begin to clench.

"Any friends we've ever talked about? What about from your band?"

Quinn shook her head, "No." Her jaw was still clenched but she forced herself to loosen it.

"And what about your family - your mom?"

Quinn wondered if her mother was listening outside of the door. "I want to know my mom. I want to talk to her. We do sometimes, like when we stopped at Hal's after that appointment we both came to. But I feel like we're supposed to talk more. That she's supposed to know more about what's going on in my life."

"I understand, Quinn." He responded. His expression was difficult to read, Quinn decided. She hoped that information didn't make it back to her mother.

"What about having a family of your own?"

This was an ideal world. In the past five years, she'd never really thought much of it. She'd kind of assumed that she'd have a family, but they were always this nameless, faceless bunch that lived in her house while she traveled the world as a rock star. In the past two weeks, her ideal family had begun to shed its hidden identity. Her ideal family had dark brown hair clogging the bathtub drains and deep brown eyes that made her catch her breath.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Well, you don't have to have a family of your own. It's not a requirement." Dr. White let out a little chuckle, but settled quickly when he saw the still pained expression on Quinn's face.

"I want one." She determinedly looked at her shoe grinding into the rug beneath her.

"Have you ever thought about who you might like to settle down with? Like the type of person, I mean?" Dr. White's eyes were studying her again.

"Well...someone kind. Thoughtful. Accepting." She searched her mind for the list of character traits she'd seen on the poster in English class.

"Have you given a gender to this person?" Dr. White's voice quieted with this question.

"I guess." She paused for a while, considering the consequences of her statement. It didn't matter now. The English 3 Whitman poem came back to mind. _Whatever satisfies the soul is truth. _

"And?"

"Lately, I've thought a lot about girls." The next line was barely a whisper. "A girl." An image of Rachel came to her mind. Sitting on the worn couch in her basement with the calculus textbook on her lap. Her face twisted in hurt and something - awe, maybe? Quinn's jaw clenched and her right hand found the fabric of the couch in a firm grip.

It was almost like Dr. White didn't even hear her say that she thought she was interested in girls. His face made no movement. He acknowledged nothing. He just continued his questions, the same pace as before.

"And when you think about your future, what does your spouse think of your body?"

Her vision of the ideal world and the real world crashed back together. What's the point in thinking about an ideal world if it would never exist? What was Dr. White getting at? Her brow scrunched against her eyes until she could almost see it, but she'd resigned to the truth.

"She loves me. She appreciates me, no matter what. It doesn't matter and she tells me that. No, she makes me feel that. She doesn't need to tell me that cause she makes me feel it."

Dr. White's brain churned as he listened to Quinn's answer. He let the silence sit for a while, his therapist tactic to see if she'd say anymore. Quinn heaved a little at her admission.

"Do you think...I'm wondering..." It was rare for Dr. White to trip over his words like this. Quinn sat forward, cautiously grabbing at the fabric of the arm of the couch. "Do you think that it's possible for _you_ to view your body that way _right now_?"

Quinn's brow quickly furrowed as she gripped the arm of the couch until her knuckles whitened. "What do you mean?"

"You said that 'she appreciates me, no matter what.'" Quinn nodded. "That 'it doesn't matter.'" She nodded at him again, waiting eagerly and a little dreadfully for the question.

"Do you think that _you _could ever feel that way about your body in its current form?"

Quinn had to check herself. She felt a rage build inside her at that question. _How could he ask that? He'd been listening to her complain about her body for years. Years. He'd prescribed her medicine to appease her shame with her body. He'd told her about surgeries that she could get and hormones that she could take when she was old enough. _

This session was her chance at resolution, she reminded herself. She'd have to tame the rage. She'd have to listen to his questions and answer honestly. _Whatever satisfies the soul is truth._

"No, I can't." It was what she'd been feeling for years, why would that feeling change now?

"Talk to me about that a little more. Obviously, only you know how you feel about your body. Help me understand a little bit better."

"I can't like my body cause this isn't what I'm supposed to look like as a girl. Girls don't have a...anything...hanging between their legs. And any girl who might be interested in more would just be disgusted because they're expecting me to be a girl. I'm a freak show." Quinn hoped that she'd broken it down enough for Dr. White. It was a shock to her body to switch from talking about her life in an ideal world to the reality of it all.

"Here's what I'm hearing," Dr. White began, now too leaning forward, just a few feet from Quinn's face as she looked intently at him. "You can't feel comfortable in your current body because it's not what your partner would expect out of your body. Is that right?"

Quinn didn't really want it to be right. She couldn't put her finger on exactly why, but she wanted to be contrary. But she couldn't think of anything that was wrong with his restatement. "Yeah, I guess."

"Have you heard of 'gender identity disorder,' Quinn? It's something that we've talked a bit about, though I don't know if we've ever put a label on it."

If anyone had checked Quinn's internet history, they'd find a wealth of sites in her cache discussing gender identity disorder. She nodded.

"Let me share some conversations I've been having with some doctors who are experts at gender identity disorder. I've been talking to a few of these doctors for a while, but we've been talking a lot more since it's seemed likely that we'd need to take you off of your meds. They said that most of their patients who have this disorder are uncomfortable in their bodies regardless of how others perceive them. Meaning that if a young man feels like he should be treated like a woman, he feels that way because that's how he feels on the inside, not because that's what other people are telling him to feel."

Quinn couldn't figure out where he was going. She turned his silence trick around on him.

"I'm saying that, through my conversations with you today, it seems _less_like you're struggling with the body that you're in and more with people accepting the body that you're in. Maybe with you accepting the body that you're in, as well."

"Dr. White," she immediately burst in, her voice cracking as she wrung her hands out in front of her. She was barely on the couch anymore as she leaned forward. "That's not..."

"Hold on a sec, Q. Hold on." Dr. White raised his hands almost in defense and waited to see if she'd continue with her interruption. When the room remained silent, he continued. "Let me give you a scenario. Answer honestly, because this is all about you. I have no stake in the decisions you make. So, the scenario. You've met the love of your life. This woman is the most beautiful, kindest, smartest woman ever. And she loves you infinitely. She sees no one else but you. She knows that you are different from many other people and she accepts it, no matter what. And, in fact, she loves you more for it." His eyebrows lifted, hoping that Quinn followed. "Would you go through surgeries and so forth to make sure that you have a 'woman's body' for this women - your parter? Or - and remember, she loves you no matter what, in fact loves you more for it - would you keep the body that you have?"

"We were talking ideal before, Dr. White. You know an ideal world doesn't exist. A woman like that doesn't exist. And if she did, she'd never fall for me." Quinn's face was red and her eyelids felt heavy.

"When it comes to love, you'd be surprised how the lines between ideal and real blend." He spoke with the kind of confidence that made Quinn wonder if he was speaking from experience.

Was she supposed to just take this man for his word? Sure, Dr. White had been in her life longer than any other man. She looked up to him most days. But the reality that she knew wouldn't allow her to fall so easily for his word.

"Maybe for you it works that way," she whispered quietly.

"How do you know that it doesn't work that way for you?" He sat at the edge of his seat now, too. Quinn looked up to see a reddened face and maybe the hint of tears in his eyes. "How do you know that it doesn't work that way for you, Quinn?"

"I don't know, Dr. White," she felt the tears burn her eyes and her throat constrict. "This is my whole life we're talking about here. It's all I've ever wanted - to be in a girl's body." She thought back to the first fight between her parents that she could remember. Arguing about whether they should treat her like a girl or a boy. Another fight - arguing about whether she should continue her sessions with Dr. White. She remembered her mother barely able to look at her at the dinner table shortly after she'd heard her father slam the front door for the last time. And she remembered the same look on her mother's face for years and years to come.

"I think it's all I've ever wanted, Dr. White." The tears ran in earnest now. She'd wanted to be another person for so long that she hadn't stopped to question it. Ever. "I don't remember." She admitted.

Dr. White took her hand and squeezed. "I know, Quinn. That's why we're having this conversation. Ever since we started these session, when you were a little kid," he smiled as he remembered a little Quinn, her feet dangling from the couch in front of him, "you just wanted to be 'normal.' We talked a lot about that. We talked about your family's break up, your mother's depression, your father's anger. You traced them all back to not being 'normal.' You believed that you - your body - was the cause of all things wrong with the Fabrays."

Quinn could only listen. The exhaustion had sunk her so far into the couch she felt the cushion slowly push forward from beneath her. Dr. White still grasped at her hand as he spoke.

"Having a surgery to make your body different will only change your body. It won't change the past, it won't change your family. It's time to really think hard on this."

Quinn's body wracked with sobs as she felt the weight of her decision. Dr. White's body thudded heavily next to her on the couch.

"It's ok. You don't need to decide now." Her sobs slowed as she listened to Dr. White. "And if you decide not to go forward with the surgery, you can always change your mind later." She felt a little relief at that.

"You just can't reverse the surgery if you decide to go forward with it now."

"Let me think."

_End Part One. _

* * *

AN: Gender identity disorder is real. This is not about denying or questioning that. This is one fictional story about one fictional character.


	9. Part 2 Chapter 1

"Drum Fills in Our Hearts"

Part 2 Chapter 1 - _I Had Days_

* * *

Washington, DC was never on her radar. New York was usually number one, then LA, then maybe Chicago. Washington, DC didn't have any discernable music scene. At least not one that she'd heard of. She couldn't think of any great bands that had come out of DC. She was sure there must be some, but she didn't want to have to get on the internet to check. She couldn't think of any world famous DC music venues. DC was barely a blip on her radar. She wouldn't be able to get jobs there. And yet...

But DC was where she'd found her first audition. It happened to be the location of the first person that had actually called her after she'd sent out about one hundred CDs wrapped in a neatly printed list of percussion skills and gigs she'd taken since she'd first picked up her sticks. The packaging probably drove away most potential employers. She'd sent the paper wrapped CDs to venues that had house bands - everywhere from dives in New York City to opera houses in Tennessee.

She didn't expect much. But when the mailman slammed shut her mom's mailbox in their cul-de-sac in Lima, Quinn drop her sticks and race up the stairs to check for responses. It didn't make sense, really. Anyone truly interested would be giving her a call, or emailing her.

Which turned out to be true. About five months into her deluge of mailings, she got a call. It woke her from her sleep.

She'd packed up her kit and a few pairs of clothes in the morning and driven through Columbus, West Virginia, and Maryland for more than 10 hours only to spend the night parallel parked on a sketchy alley in DC. The next morning she set up her kit in the stale smoke of a jazz club along U Street. She'd been glad for such a long drive. It had given her ample time to review the jazz riffs she'd forgotten in her dreams of being a rock star.

Mr. Marks hadn't expected her to be white. Or a girl. Or 19 years old. He also hadn't expected to hire her as the club's house percussionist. Quinn hadn't expected it either. But she had a job. And a one room place with a cot over the club to stay for the time being.

Puck followed not long after. They'd lost touch for the remainder of senior year, when she went away. But sometime in the summer after graduation, around the time that Quinn returned back to her mother's house in Lima, Puck knocked on the back glass sliding door, sat down on her couch, and picked up the video game controller as if nothing had happened. As if they'd always been best friends. As if it was normal.

They didn't talk about what happened for years. Not through the time that Puck lived above the club with Quinn, sleeping on the floor while he worked as a bus boy at a restaurant around the corner. Not through the time that Puck became the house bassist at the club and they'd put their earnings together to get a two-room place around the corner from the club. Not even through their first tour with the U Street Jazz Cats through the South.

Puck became the brother Quinn never had. More so after the talk. They were 23 and in a motel just outside of Charleston, South Carolina and Quinn was drunk and humiliated and Puck just listened. And the next day, Quinn expected him to be gone, but he wasn't. He was scowling at the Southern humidity and tuning his bass on the edge of the bed. And all Quinn could feel was relief.

The U Street club had closed not long after their second tour of the South. It didn't help that Mr. Marks ran a numbers game through the club most nights. Quinn was just glad that a visiting band was playing when the club was raided.

The Cats, as Quinn called them, stayed together and continued on tour. It wasn't much, but it was enough for Quinn and Puck to keep up their two room apartment and save a little each month, when they weren't blowing money on instruments or alcohol.

They'd been to New York City before. Going through the Holland Tunnel usually gave Quinn a flash of _her_face and a bubbling in her stomach, but as soon as they'd emerge into the light and the bustle of the city, all was forgotten. They'd go to whatever jazz club they were supposed to play that night. Do a sound check. Find some restaurant to grab a few drinks and some cheap fried food. Head back to the club and play at least three sets. Scoop up their tips. Drink on the house. Take an expensive cab out to some outer borough to stay with some friend of a friend. Wake up with headaches and move on.

New York was the last stop on the tour this time. With their relative success, they'd actually booked a week of gigs at one of downtown Manhattan's moderately popular jazz clubs. Puck had been so excited that they'd booked a semi-private hostel room in the Village rather than stay with his skeezy friend in Brooklyn yet again. He'd said something about "rolling in money, now."

The first night was like any other night on tour.

So was most of the second night.

Quinn had returned to their bunks in the hostel. Despite being a touring musician, she couldn't drink herself silly every night and wake up with hangovers every morning. Not like Puck.

She woke to Puck's sour breath and a poking in her side.

"Quinn. Quinn. Quinn."

Quinn turned over to find Puck sitting precariously at the edge of her bottom bunk.

"What Puck?" The sleep made her voice scratchy.

"Guess who I saw tonight?" Puck teetered and pushed his left foot out to keep himself upright.

Quinn felt like she might throw up. She knew the answer before he could even say her name. Who else would he run into in New York? Who else would merit waking her up in the middle of the night? Sure, they'd had _the talk_. But Quinn had been sure to dance around Rachel as much as possible. Puck couldn't have known the reaction that her name would elicit.

He didn't wait for her to answer. "Rachel Berry." He looked at her with eyebrows raised and a strange grin on his face. "Rachel fucking Berry."

Quinn didn't want to hear about her. She'd spent the last five years crafting a new Quinn and the name "Rachel Berry" was a reminder of the Quinn she'd spent so much time emerging out from under.

"So we're in this bar. Some piano bar. Stupid place. A bunch of theater geeks. And she's behind the bar. Behind the fucking bar, Quinn! A Broadway star doesn't double as a bartender."

Puck finally stopped, waiting for a response in earnest. Quinn didn't want to be interested, but the allure of the Rachel Berry of her past was just too strong.

"So, did you talk to her?" She whispered.

"Yeah. I sat down at the end of her bar. She didn't recognize me at first, but then she just stared at me. Called me 'Noah.' I almost forgot that was my fucking name, Quinn." He laughed but Quinn's face felt frozen. She awaited more. "She's gonna come to the show tomorrow night."

Quinn couldn't release the air from her lungs. She felt her body shake minutely, not enough for a drunk Puck to notice.

"What?"

"Yeah, I told her I had a gig and..." She couldn't deal with Puck's drunken state anymore.

"Did you mention me?"

"Uhhh...I don't..." Puck looked beyond her. "Unsure. Shit. I forget."

"Puck, I don't think Rachel wants to see me."

"Oh sure she does. She used to always ask about you when you left Lima at the end of senior year. She even got your email address from me when I first moved to DC."

"What? How come you never told me this?" Quinn's brows scrunched together.

"She didn't email you?" Puck's face mirrored Quinn's.

"No."

"Oh, well, I didn't know it was important, I guess. Anyway. It'll be fun. She sounded excited."

Quinn tossed and turned in her bed. The third night would certainly be different from any other night.

...

The third day was certainly different. Quinn could feel the bags under her eyes and the cold, clamminess of her skin whenever it made contact with something. Even though it was the third day and they didn't need to, Quinn went in for a sound check. It was the only thing to get her mind off of what she could only feel was impending doom.

Wailing away on the drums continued to be the remedy. A sound check, it was not. She had to retune her snare after slamming on it so hard. The bartender in the club seemed to disappear from his set up during the last half of her practice, likely escaping the piercing snaps of the snare and crash cymbal.

As with all performances, the lights were too bright, and she couldn't make out any faces. In turn, it almost felt like any other gig. Almost.

Quinn felt the drum sticks nearly slide out of her hands any time they were idle. Her brain raced between sets. She'd disappear into the musicians room rather than stand outside with Puck smoking a cigarette or having a drink. In the room, she braced herself best she knew how, by taking shots with the trumpet player and playing a hand of cards every now and again.

But the avoidance routine could only stand for so long.

"Fabray, the gig's up," Puck giggled like a school girl as her pushed his way into the alley. He was drunk. "Literally and figuratively."

"Jeez, Puck, I didn't think you knew what those words meant." Quinn could hear the familiar honeyed tones of her voice before she saw her. She quickly stubbed her cigarette out and shoved her phone in her pocket. She'd only been playing a game anyway. As she stood, she noticed a familiar presence in front of her.

Rachel had grown up, somehow. It took few moments for her to take everything in. She was leaner, more toned. Maybe as a result of all that dancing work Quinn had heard they had to do in arts school. Her makeup was a little darker, more sultry. Her outfit was not the same Rachel Berry outfit from William McKinley High School. Gone were the knee socks, argyle sweaters, and headbands. She wore long leather boots, pulled up over tight blue jeans. Quinn took notice of some sort of designer blouse or something. She didn't know her fashion much, but it definitely wasn't a sweater with reindeer. And no headband. Rachel's hair fell in waves around her face. Quinn caught a glimpse of her eyes and quickly averted her gaze to the ground.

She must have stared for long enough to create some sort of uncomfortable silence. Quinn began kicking herself. This was not how she was supposed to make Rachel feel around her.

"Well, uh, I'm gonna get back inside," Puck placed the brick in the back door of the club and left them to their privacy.

As soon as the door hit the brick, Quinn could feel a chill in the air. She stuffed her hands in her pockets, unsure of how to break the awkward silence between them. She didn't have to.

"I know you're trying to keep yourself together on the outside, but I bet inside, your heart is just swelling with this pride that you've actually made it, that you're living your dream, and you get to see me standing here, like this. Pathetic. Just a touring group. Not even a part of a Broadway chorus. Working at a bar when I'm not on tour." Her words felt like venom, piercing Quinn into submission.

Quinn felt her face screw up and was at a loss for words for a few moments. "Of course not. Why? I don't…"

"The last time you spoke to me you spewed such hatred and anger. I remember every word of it. Every vile word, Quinn," Quinn looked at Rachel, who leaned against the brick wall of the alley. Her words were still filled with anger, but tears brimmed in her eyes. Quinn wanted to take a step toward her. Wanted to wrap her arounds around Rachel's back and bury her face in her hair and whisper her apologies over and over again. "Seven years later, and I remember every single word you said to me. You begged me to remember how _nice you were_. _How nice you were_. I've been fighting with that line for seven years. You weren't nice to me, you were selfish. You never cared about my happiness, just what I could give you in return."

Quinn hadn't thought she'd have to defend herself against those words ever. Not in person. She'd run through hundreds, perhaps thousands of apologies to Rachel. Half of her journals from her time away from Lima at the end of senior year were apology letters written to Rachel. Now, face to face, she struggled with the right thing to say. She knew now that there probably was no right thing to say.

"I've thought about those words for seven years, too. They were my undoing, you know." Quinn replied sadly. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Rachel's eyes dropped to Quinn's mouth.

She stared for a while, took Quinn in. It was uncomfortable, but Quinn thought she deserved it. She deserved to be stared at. At least by Rachel. She was taller. More graceful and elegant. Her hands moved with purpose and efficiency. Her bottom lip twitched when she was listening to Rachel, like she wanted to interrupt her and explain everything. Her breathing was slow and deep and even. Had Quinn always moved like that and she'd failed to notice?

She was more mature – even in the same outfit as Rachel had last seen her – a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt, and converse sneakers. Converse sneakers - those symbols of a worn, active childhood. Quinn's shoes had turned into a sun-faded pink, instead of the effervescent red of their origin, the soles worn down around the edges. She wondered if Quinn still twisted the soles of her shoes into the ground when she was nervous.

Despite the same exterior, beneath the surface everything seemed different. It was the control. The precision. Quinn had always had that with her percussion. Kick drum on every first and third. Snare on the third. Hi-hat. Hi-hat. Crash. Exact. It had flowed into her being.

"You're so different from what I remember." The hate in her voice was gone. She pushed herself off the wall and took a step closer to Quinn.

"Really?" Quinn glanced down at her outfit. She could feel Rachel's presence nearing. Her body heated in a way she hadn't felt in ages. It didn't feel right to feel this about Rachel now, she thought. "Puck would disagree, I think. He always makes fun of these things." She pushed her foot out in front and Rachel could see her twisting the sole of her shoe into the concrete of the alleyway.

Rachel smiled, quick and hidden, looking down at Quinn's shoes. She let Quinn's joke pass and the silence settle again.

"Really. You're so different," she said, almost in wonder.

Quinn looked up at her and felt her body go rigid.

"I'm sorry I said those things, just now. I've been thinking about this all day. About what I've wanted to say to you. And there were so many things, Quinn." Rachel turned and let her back press against the brick wall before sliding down. Quinn took a seat next to her and a swig from the beer bottle she'd brought outside.

"So many things." Rachel whispered again, before watching Quinn take another sip from her bottle. When Quinn put the bottle down, Rachel slid her hand out to graze Quinn's pinky resting against the ground.

Quinn's eyes shot down, as if to be sure it was really happening.

"I guess...I just don't understand. You're such an enigma to me."

Quinn didn't know how to respond. She wanted to pull Rachel's hand into her own, but it didn't feel like the time.

"Why did you hurt me?" It was as if all the pain that she'd accumulated over the past five years lived in Rachel's eyes.

There it was. The question she'd struggled to answer herself for these past five years. The question she'd talked with counselors about. The question she'd written about time and again in her journal. The question that Dr. White would bring up even to this day on occasion.

She'd had time to think about this. It wasn't an apology. It wasn't an excuse. But it was an answer.

"I was a child, Rachel. You'd had years to get used to your body, your hormones, your brain. I had days. It doesn't excuse what I did, but it's an answer to your question. I only had days."

Quinn hadn't cried in so long. And she hadn't cried in front of someone in even longer. She let a few tears slip in front of Rachel, but it felt good to reign it in. It felt good to release and resume control. She was different.


	10. Part 2 Chapter 2

"Drum Fills in Our Hearts"

Part 2 Chapter 2 - _32nd Bar Fill_

* * *

She hadn't had a night like that with a girl in so long.

The thing about jazz was that it was dominated by men. Every so often there would be this sultry singer that would saunter on stage and belt out a standard, scat her way into Quinn's heart, pour her emotions out to Quinn in the back room behind the bar, and then make off with Puck before Quinn had even had a chance to introduce herself.

Usually, though - usually, at the end of the night it was Quinn and the guys with a couple handles of whatever the bar of the night was looking to get rid of and enough cheap beer to wash it down.

She didn't mind it, though. Most nights.

After they'd come in from the back alley the night before, she and Rachel had settled in at a table nestled a few feet away from the boys playing poker. To her surprise, or maybe not, Puck stayed away. It seemed to be the first time ever that Puck had no interest in a beautiful woman.

Puck had mostly disappeared with an older woman that night. He'd popped his head back out of the bathroom or the alley every so often and give her a little wink, but he was mostly gone. If Quinn had to guess, and really she didn't want to, but if she had to guess, she'd put the woman somewhere around 45.

That's another thing about jazz. All types. Some nights Puck would be running home with a smoking hot chick in her early twenties who'd been staring at him all night. Other nights it was some mom who was out for a weekend with the girls and let loose a little bit. Puck didn't care. Quinn didn't really care either. It had always been Puck's M.O.

Once Puck had finally left, Quinn had loosened up a good bit more. She'd given Rachel Puck's share of the liquor and they'd just talked. And talked. And talked. Talk about DC. Talk about New York. Talk about jazz and Broadway. Talk about NYADA and failed auditions. Talk about tours cross country and what it was like to live in a van for 25 weeks of the year.

By the end of the night, as they were bidding their adieus, it was almost like the whole alley scene hadn't happened. Even like the whole couch scene at Rachel's in senior year hadn't happened either. Except it would always live in the back of Quinn's memory and probably Rachel's, too.

Rachel, she was told, would have to work tomorrow night. But, work meant back at the bar. Quinn nodded her ascent when Rachel asked if she'd join her for a night cap in the East Village after her gig was over. Just because she was working behind the bar didn't mean she couldn't enjoy a few drinks.

Quinn was looking forward to it.

When Quinn awoke the next morning, she was happy to find Puck in the twin bed across the room minus one 45 year-old woman.

It almost felt like any other morning. Puck's mohawk had matted to his face and Quinn still couldn't believe that he hadn't shaved that thing off ages ago. They'd found a corner store down the block to get coffee and breakfast sandwiches. They'd explored a little bit. (Puck liked old record shops, Quinn liked museums, they both liked antique instruments.) They'd popped in to the bar to jam out a little. When the rest of the band wasn't around, they found themselves harkening back to their classic rock roots. And they'd get a little lubricated for the night's gig. When the rest of the guys came in, they'd do a shot of Jameson, say a quick prayer, and open with "So What."

"Stopping in to see Rachel after this," Quinn near-shouted to Puck over the din of the bar after the second set.

"Yeah? You getting it in?" Puck said with a lecherous face.

"Puck." Her face was set. All business despite the flush creeping up beneath the sweat dripping from her temples.

"Sorry. Sorry." He recanted. "Think I'm gonna pass though. That chick from last night is right over there." He pointed toward the corner of the stage where he was set up.

"Yeah, man? That good, huh?" It was Quinn's turn for the lecherous face.

"Oh my God, Q. She did this thing..."

"Stop," Quinn interrupted quickly. "Never mind. I'll take your word for it."

Puck could only laugh. This wasn't the first time a conversation like this had ended so quickly. He'd always thought Quinn was a little bit of a prude.

The third and final set lasted a little longer than usual. Sometimes, when they'd get really into it, the improv sections would go for a few rounds rather than the standard one or two. Though she was anxious to see Rachel again, while she was playing, her mind was completely free. She relished the opportunity to wow the crowd with her fills. Sometimes she'd even get pulled over by an old jazz fan who'd ask her about them: "Your fills are amazing. How do you prepare for them?" and she'd just answer, "I don't, man" like she'd been born sticks in hand.

(Truth was, Quinn had learned all about fills back in her early days in DC. This old drummer named Scooby taught her about the ethereal 32nd bar fill. It was the fill that most drummers couldn't wait long enough for. You'd hear that fourth bar and have a good fill in mind, something quick and easy, maybe a few quick hi-hats and a single-handed off beat snare, but it wasn't perfect, so you'd wait. On the 8 bar, you'd hear a slot again, maybe this time a low tom and snare rhythm, a little more complex but still not too difficult, but you'd thought about it for too long and it wouldn't fit if you went for it now. On the 16th, you'd had enough time to mull it over, and you had a very good idea in mind, a few eighths sped into sixteenths with a cymbal crash, but you'd held off. Too dramatic. Almost like you'd waited that long to make a statement. You were close enough at the 16th to wait for the 32nd, anyway. And by the time you get to the 32nd, Scooby used to like to say, the 'bitches are dying for your fill, man.' By the time you got to that 32nd bar, you didn't even have to think about the fill. It flowed like 'sweet wine and honey.' And the boys in the band would beg for you to fill every 32nd bar. And Quinn's pretty sure that's how she got the touring gig.)

She was thankful, by the time the set was over, that they would have four more gigs to go. That meant she could leave her kit covered on stage. It wasn't too long ago when she'd have to break it down after each gig and pack it back into the van, only to unpack it in a new city with a hangover the next morning.

"Ok Puck, taking off," she said to the back of his head. His back was to her, face to the old lady.

"Say hi to Rach for me, Q." He twisted around to face her, then grabbed her hand and leaned in, smiling. "Oh, and don't forget to wrap it up."

Quinn quickly dropped his hand. "It's not like that."

"Eh, Rachel's changed, you know?" He began as her turned more fully toward her. "She's not all plaid skirts and knee socks and headbands anymore. She even dropped the whole 'Broadway or bust' thing."

"I don't know, Puck. I just don't want to start thinking about her like that again. I mean, you remember. You were there for the aftermath."

Quinn took a tentative seat near him.

His voice and eyes sobered. "You're older now. You're smarter. You know yourself. If you don't want to think about her like that, don't. Sorry if I'm pressuring you, but there's no harm in letting your mind wander a little bit, Q. And if she returns it a little bit, too, then take it from there. Don't cut it off before it's even begun. Be cool."

Quinn fixed her eyes on the back of the dim club as she listened. The toe of her worn Converse dug into the linoleum floor tile. "Yeah, I just..."

He grabbed her hand again but softer this time. Quinn felt the callouses of his fingers trace over her palm. "No, 'I justs.' Rachel is not other girls. And you don't have to be someone else for her. Or even think about being someone else for her. Just be you, do your thing, if you're feeling it then feel it. Ok?"

She nodded as she stood. It was getting a little too serious. Puck was easily much more drunk than she was.

"Say hi to her for me."

...

Another thing about jazz was that jazz musicians played in the near dark. See, jazz musicians were usually so old and beat up that no one wanted to see their grubby, fat fingers plucking away at guitar strings. No one wanted to see their old, acne-scarred cheeks swelling into the mouthpiece of a trumpet.

Rachel's bar was as dark as any jazz club she'd been to. Despite being a new place, it made Quinn feel safe in a way.

On a Tuesday night, it wasn't terribly busy when Quinn walked in. By the time her eyes adjusted to the dark illuminated with muted Christmas lights hanging from the ceiling, she'd found Rachel. Quinn could only see her from the waist up as she leaned over the front of the bar to wipe it down with a rag. Quinn took the moment before Rachel noticed her to take her in. She had on a plain black shirt with a deep vee that allowed for a peak of cleavage when she bent over the bar, like she was doing now. Quinn cursed herself for thinking that, then quickly remembered Puck's wise words. She wouldn't restrain, but she wouldn't allow for complete freedom either. A healthy medium.

"Hi there," Rachel said when she noticed Quinn.

"Busy tonight, I see," Quinn murmured as she took in the couple at the bar and the rowdy table of surely underage boys in the corner booth.

"Har har," Rachel returned mockingly. "It just means more time I get to spend talking to you, though."

"Well I'm glad for that, then, I suppose." Quinn pulled her jacket off and placed it on a hook under the bar.

"What would you do otherwise? I see your bro Puck didn't make it out."

A little alcohol from earlier remained in her system and jostled her as she tried to hoist herself on the bar stool. "Yeah, he's caught up with that older lady from last night."

"Is he still a dog then?" Rachel asked with a smile.

"Eh, if by dog you mean that he sleeps with a lot of women, then yes. But he's a good guy, too."

"I guess he's always been a pretty good guy."

"Yeah."

"So what can I get you to drink? Or are you already pretty drunk? By the time I got home last night I could barely remember my name, but you were so...I don't know, were you sober?"

"You saw me drink with you. Guess I can just hold it better," Quinn grinned.

"You think so, huh? That you can hold your liquor better than a bartender?"

"You think you can hold your liquor better than a jazz musician? We live and breathe alcohol, Rach."

"And bartenders don't?"

"It's our manna from heaven. Our inspiration."

"It's my livelihood."

"Well, let's just see then. I'll take two shots of tequila and a Maker's on the rocks."

"Wow. You don't play. Two shots?" Rachel asked as she turned back to the rows of liquor lined up behind her.

"Yeah, one for me and one for you. This is a challenge, right?"

Rachel let out a baffled little laugh. "Sure. I can't drink any more whisky after last night, though."

"I'll let you off with beer if you drink twice as fast."

"Oh Quinn, I have to maintain my figure. I'm not drinking beer."

"Your figure? Well, we wouldn't want that, then." Quinn winked at her as she placed two tequila shots on the bar.

"Vodka soda."

"Fine by me." Quinn grabbed a pair of limes from the tray nearest her and nearly dropped them when she saw Rachel's tongue peak out of her mouth and slowly lick the side of her hand. She couldn't tell if it was on purpose or not, but Rachel seemed to pick just the right moment when her tongue was fully out and flat against her hand to look up at Quinn.

"Cheers." They clinked glasses, licked the salt from their hands, and downed the shot quickly, Quinn grasping for the lime and shoving it in her mouth.

"And your Maker's on the rocks." Rachel's fingers lingered a moment on the glass and Quinn's fingers felt a current shock through her at the skin-on-skin contact.

"Thanks." She sat in silence for a moment, watching Rachel's back to her as she made her own drink and attended to the pitcher of beer for the kids in the corner. Now that she was closer, she could see Rachel had on a tight fitting pair of blue jeans and the same boots from the night before. Quinn had to say she was a fan of this new look of Rachel's. Far better than the skirts and knee socks, though she wouldn't mind a reappearance of those items every once in a while. Rachel's legs did fuel her fantasies once or twice.

"So I was thinking," Quinn began as Rachel leaned over the bar and took a sip of her drink from the thin cocktail straw. "We need a way to even up this challenge. I've been drinking since eight, when we took the stage."

"Eight. Really?" Rachel said, a smirk across her face. Quinn knew she may have gotten herself into trouble with this one. "Well I've been working since six. And see those guys over there," she pointed to the table of youngsters in the corner. "Those guys buy me a round every time they get another pitcher." She turned back to the computer screen behind me. "Five pitchers so far. Five drinks for me."

Quinn smiled. She didn't really feel like estimating, but she did feel like getting Rachel a little more spirited. "Well, I'm probably six or seven drinks in. So I think you need to take another shot of that tequila."

"How about this? Let the last one settle, and on our next round of shots, I'll do a double. Ok?" Rachel winked and Quinn felt her chest constrict and the blood rush to her groin.

"Sounds good," was just about all that Quinn could manage to say.

"How was your gig?"

"Same as usual."

"Oh yeah? What's the same as usual? Like the same as last night?"

"Yeah, I guess. Same as last night. I mean, the thing about jazz is that it's never the same. That's why I love it. But, nothing really crazy happened or anything."

"I see, I see. What did you do during the day?"

"Oh, Puck and I just messed around in the city. Had some went over to Big Phil's Records, had some pizza at John's..."

"John's? I love that place. Their vegan slice is the best thing ever." Rachel's eyes beamed as she leaned closer.

"Yeah, it was pretty good. Puck said when you come to New York you gotta eat pizza at least once a day, so that was his pick today.

"Well he's right, you know. Pizza is a New York staple," Rachel said with a smile.

"What about you? What did you do today?"

"Well, I did wake up with a little bit of a hangover, thank you very much." Quinn met her with a crooked smile. "Took a little time to look over a few of the Broadway magazines to check out auditions. There's one that I might go for. A chorus part. Though it wanted an experienced dancer and I don't know that I'm that experienced."

Quinn wanted to interrupt and tell her to go for it. The old Rachel Berry from Lima was a nervous, anxious person. So anxious sometimes that it rubbed off and left everyone around her feeling on edge. But she wasn't so anxious that she didn't try. Maybe New York life, or Broadway life had impacted her in the wrong way. Maybe she'd been rejected too many times. Quinn wondered where Rachel's usual high school bravado had gone.

"How about that shot now?" It almost seemed to Quinn like Rachel was deflecting, but she didn't want to push it. While it felt like old times sitting on the couch in the Berry's basement, she had to remember that it wasn't and she couldn't just fall back into routines so easily with Rachel.

...

As the bar cleared out, it became more obvious that Quinn had gotten herself (and maybe Rachel) in over her head with this contest. The Christmas lights falling from the ceiling combined with the countless drinks offered a warm fuzzy facade to everything and everyone Quinn laid eyes on. Watching Rachel, her movements were a little freer, and sometimes a little sloppier. Most beer poured from the top of the pitcher each time she refilled it for the guys in the corner.

"So tell me, Quinn," Rachel leaned across the bar and whispered against Quinn's ear. Her breath was so hot it sent a rush straight down Quinn's body. "What are you doing later tonight?"

"Hadn't thought that far ahead." Quinn slurred slightly. She could feel her words coming out in a garbled mess as she watched Rachel emerge from behind the bar and take the bar stool next to her.

Rachel's hand brushed against her leg then settled on her thigh. She leaned a little closer and nearly lost her balance falling into Quinn. "Want to play a game?"

"What kind of game?" It felt like dangerous territory, but Quinn couldn't resist. She hadn't talked with a woman like this in at least a year. And that had ended disastrously. She took another sip to forget.

"Two truths and a lie. You heard of it?"

_Thanks Rachel!_

The guys from the corner booth nearly startled Quinn off of the bar stool. Rachel leaned back and turned toward them. "No problem guys! See you tomorrow!"

Once they were gone and the bar was clear, Rachel leaned even closer into her. Her hand returned to Quinn's thigh but found a place even higher up, leaving Quinn buzzing with alcohol and something Quinn hadn't felt in quite a while.

"Ok so, two truths and a lie. I'll go first, then you go. Ready?"

Quinn took a sip of her drink and collected the courage to place her hand over top of Rachel's on her thigh. "Ready," she said in a whisper.

"One: I grew up in Lima. Two: I kissed Puck. Three: I kissed a girl."

Quinn racked her brain. One was obviously true. Rachel gave her a free pass on that one. She wasn't sure about the Puck thing. Rachel could have easily kissed Puck some time in high school, maybe even one of those days when Quinn hadn't shown up to a practice and they'd had to sit around and wait for her. She couldn't fault Puck for that one. Though she thought Puck had told her everything about the end of their senior year, despite her absence. The third one could be true, though she couldn't get a read on this grown-up Rachel.

"Three."

"Wrong! Drink." Rachel used her free hand to grab the glass and push Quinn's whisky up against her lips. Quinn smiled and tilted her head back as Rachel poured a little.

"You think I kissed Puck? Gross. And, I can't believe you think I haven't kissed a girl. Is there a girl our age alive today who hasn't kissed a girl?"

Quinn raised an eyebrow and shrugged. Maybe the big city had changed Rachel. She couldn't truly imagine Rachel kissing a girl back in Lima, much as she wanted her to back in the day.

Rachel leaned against her ear and whispered, "You've kissed a girl, right Quinn?"

It took every once of sobriety she could pull together not to moan and push her hips off the bar stool. Quinn took a deep gulp and nodded, "Mmmhmm."

Rachel hadn't moved and her thick, alcohol-laden voice buzzed against Quinn's eardrum. "Your turn."

When Rachel pulled back again, it took Quinn a few moments to collect her thoughts. Her pants felt tight and her palms felt sweaty. When she moved, it took her too long to right her balance on the bar stool.

"Ok. One: I'm drunk. Two: You win. Three: You're pretty."

Rachel set a foot down on the floor to correct her balance as she let out a hearty laugh. "You're drunk, I win, I'm pretty. Is one of those a lie, Quinn?"

Quinn smiled. "Oops. Um. One: I'm drunk. Two: You win. Three: You're not pretty."

Rachel stood up as she laughed again. "You're not very good at this game, Quinn," she said as she moved back behind the bar. "You are drunk, but so am I, so I don't know if I win exactly. But, I'll take it." She disappeared for a moment under the bar before coming back up with a jacket and a purse. "And thank you for the compliment."

She set her coat atop the bar and sat back down next to Quinn, her hand again finding that spot just inside Quinn's thigh that made her stomach turn and her pants feel tight. "My turn. One: I've had a threesome. Two: I don't have a gag reflex." Rachel leaned close to Quinn's ear again, stopping along the way to look into her eyes. "Three," she began, voice husky with alcohol and something else, "I'm wet right now."

Quinn couldn't bite back the moan this time. She felt her hips jump up off the barstool, hoping Rachel hadn't noticed despite her hand resting near the seam of her jeans.

She licked her lips and took her time before speaking. "I hope all three are true."

"Unlike you," Rachel started, lips so close to Quinn's ear she could feel the dampness of her breath, "I know how to play this game." Rachel leaned back and took another sip of her drink.

"Ok." Quinn stared as her lips wet the edge of the glass and her tongue came out to meet the liquid before she took a sip.

"Are you going to guess?" Rachel asked as she set the glass back down.

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Threesome?"

"You're right. I've never had a threesome." Maybe Rachel was a little more wholesome than Quinn had given her credit for. The big city changed people, but didn't change them to be unrecognizable.

Rachel stood and put her coat on. Instead of sitting back down, she put both hands on Quinn's thighs and leaned between her spread legs. Her mouth returned to Quinn's ear again. "Oh, and you're pretty, too." Her breath lingered for a few moments as Quinn closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath.

"C'mon, I have to close up." Rachel pushed off of her thighs and stumbled away just missing crashing into the side of a table.

Quinn nodded a few times before opening her eyes. She took one last sip of her drink before stepping onto shaky legs.

Quinn grabbed her jacket from the coat hanger by the door. As she pulled it on, Rachel took a step toward her and pulled either end of her jacket collar. "Well, Ms. Fabray. It was great to hang out with you tonight."

Quinn's eyes darted from Rachel's deep brown eyes to her lips and back. "You too, Rach." Her voice was deeper than usual, tinged with liquor and lust.

"I'm this way," she said when they reached the streets.

A moment of panic flashed before Quinn. She didn't want the night to end, but she was nervous about where the night would continue.

"I don't think you should go home alone. Cab?" It was the only thing she could think of. A cab ride together meant a few more minutes.

"I'm ok, Quinn. You don't have to be a hero." Rachel's eyes half-lidded and Quinn could see that she, too, was pretty drunk.

"Not trying to be. Just trying to be nice."

"Well will you be nice enough to come up and have a drink with me?" Rachel looked up at her with those doe eyes and Quinn felt the muscles in her stomach contract and seize up. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and clenched her fists.

This was exactly what she'd wanted to happen in high school. She'd wanted to see Rachel look at her like this. She'd dreamed about Rachel looking up at her with those eyes for such a long time. Well after high school even. Until she'd had to force it out of her mind so that she wouldn't be miserable all her life. She'd never thought Rachel would actually look at her like this in real life.

"Guess so." She didn't want her words to betray how she was actually feeling. 'Play it cool.' Those were Puck's words whenever Quinn would get caught up with a girl after a gig, which was almost never, but it did happen.

Her hand finally signaled a cab, which pulled over. She opened the door for Rachel and looked in at her with the door ajar.

A little frown crossed Rachel's face. "You guess so? Well never mind then." She coyly looked away as she scooted across the backseat.

"No no, I mean, of course. Yes. I want to. I would love to." So much for playing it cool.

Rachel turned back to her, a smile painted wide across her face. She patted the seat next to her and Quinn practically leapt into the cab, throwing her body against the bursting seams of the faux leather seats.

Rachel laughed and scooped a hand into her own as she leaned forward to tell the cab driver her address.

"Thanks for coming tonight, Quinn." Rachel was pressed up against her so tightly that Quinn wanted to take her jacket back off.

"Wouldn't miss it," she replied cooly, smiling warmly at Rachel. "Thanks for having me."

Rachel picked her calloused hand up and pressed it delicately against her lips. Quinn could feel the sticky sweetness of the lipgloss she wore against the sweaty palm of her hand. Her eyes struggled to open wider in her drunken haze as she tried to convince herself that Rachel was really kissing her hand.

"Mind if I have some more of you?" Rachel whispered against the tip of her index finger before it was enveloped in the warmth of her mouth.

Again, Quinn struggled to bite back a moan. She'd worked so hard all night to keep her hands to herself but she let go for a moment and used her free hand to hotly grab at Rachel's back, pulling her up so that she was partially on her lap. In the struggle, Quinn's hand dropped out of Rachel's mouth and Rachel gasped at Quinn's strength.

"I've wanted you to do this to me all night, Quinn." She pushed her hips hard against Quinn's stomach, her voice gravelly with want.

Quinn almost didn't recognize her own voice. "I've wanted to do this to you for years, Rachel."

Rachel's lips were a crash cymbal clashing hungrily against her own. They were warm and bright and loud and free of shame. Quinn followed her lead and let herself be free, too.

She didn't know who paid for the cab. She didn't know how they'd gotten upstairs. She didn't know how they'd made it to the couch pushed up against the back wall of the main room. In her mind, there wasn't a single moment since the cab ride when their bodies hadn't been desperately stuck together, their hands gripping and pushing and pulling, and their lips melded to one another.

Quinn hadn't even been thinking about it. She should have been thinking about it. She usually thought about it. Sometimes she even thought with it.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the fact that what she'd been dreaming about for half her life was actually happening. Rachel Berry was on top of her. Quinn Fabray. Rachel Berry writhing on top of Quinn Fabray. Hips syncopated against Quinn's inner pulse. Lips and teeth crashing against her. A steady rise and fall of their chests as backs arched and ebbed. If she'd had her wits fully about her, Quinn might have compared this feeling to the 32rd bar drum fill. 'Sweet wine and honey.'

But when Rachel pulled back and looked straight down at their bodies pushing up against one another, Quinn cursed herself for not thinking about it.

"So you still have it." Rachel whispered hotly as she continued to look between them.

Before Quinn could say or do anything, the low vibrations in Rachel's voice continued. "Sometimes I used to wonder if I just made that conversation up in my head. Or if you decided to get it you know... remember how you said that wished it would..." Her voice trailed off as her eyes met Quinn's.

Quinn felt the throb in her groin intensify as Rachel looked into her eyes. She didn't want to talk about the decisions she'd made so long ago with Dr. White. She wasn't sure that's what Rachel wanted, either. At least not in this moment. She thought for a moment about sitting up.

"Are you going to let me see it?"

Quinn couldn't think about sitting up any longer. It was reflex. She pushed up and nearly threw Rachel off of her. She felt a little like she was going to throw up. Possibly from sitting up so quickly. Possibly from the blood rushing straight to her groin. Possibly from Rachel's candid talk about something she was never candid about.

"We might be drunk, but what the fuck Rachel?" Quinn couldn't help the way her face twisted up in anger and disgust.

"Isn't that what you wanted?" Rachel was now sitting next to her, one leg up on the couch barely touching Quinn's jeans, the other dangling just off the couch. Her chest rose and fell quickly and her lips glistened with the early morning sun peaking through the window.

It took what felt like ages for the next words to come to mind. _Yes_ raced just up to her teeth but stopped just before her lips. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Before she could think of more, she quickly said, "No. Well, I guess maybe but..."

Rachel turned back to her, lifting her leg back off the floor to throw it over Quinn. Quinn felt herself lying back down on the couch. "See. So we're both grown up now. I've been told I'm very good at what I do." She felt Rachel's delicate hands just trace against the zipper of her jeans.

"No. Stop. Please get off of me." Quinn pushed up quickly again. This time she felt that much closer to being sick. It was the alcohol. Definitely the alcohol. She closed her eyes and stood slowly, hoping that she could hold off on throwing up until she got outside.

She opened her eyes to find Rachel looking straight at the zipper of her jeans. Her brown eyes looked less red and murky and her cheeks seemed a little more blushed. "Sorry, I didn't think it was a big deal," she whispered as she now stood, as well. If Quinn hadn't been so preoccupied by the threat of falling ill, she might have even noticed the smallest hint of embarrassment and remorse in Rachel's voice. "You can stay here for the night, if you want. I don't want you to get lost going home or something."

"Bathroom?" Quinn said hurriedly.

"There." Rachel pointed to a door next to the kitchen. "Are you..." Before she could finish her sentence, Rachel knew the answer. She thought jazz musicians didn't get sick. With all of Quinn's talk, she'd have thought she'd hold it down pretty well. At least, Rachel thought, she might be off the hook for those things she'd said (and done) out of the lethal combination of lust and alcohol. Listening to the violent noises coming from the bathroom, Rachel didn't feel so well herself.

She wasn't sure if Quinn would stay or not, but she couldn't stay upright much longer. She laid some sheets on the sofa and pulled the trashcan out from her room.

If Quinn was there in the morning, she'd take that as a sign that her errors could be forgiven. If Quinn wasn't there in the morning, she'd have to figure something out. Or just let her go back to DC with just fuzzy memories. She couldn't decide. She didn't want to decide. She crashed into her floral comforter, relieved that she wouldn't have to decide for a few more hours.


End file.
